Stand Tall
by ThrashtillDeath
Summary: Voldemort stirs, and the Triwizard Tournament awaits. Harry Potter has spent his short time in the wizarding world facing danger unprepared, and a step behind the truth. Now, he must make a choice. Continue to let others create his path, or stand tall before the forces that array themselves before him - no matter the consequences.
1. Machinations

_Stand Tall - The Rise of Harry Potter_

 _Chapter 1_

 _Machinations_

* * *

Kamikaze rain hammered incessantly at the pedestrian double glazing of Number 4 Privet drive with about as much hope of getting to the other side of the glass as Harry had doing the same from the inside. He had always seen this house as a prison, right from the point in time where he understood the concept. Initially, it was a prison until he was old enough to escape in his late teens. But then, he received his Hogwarts letter, and everything changed. The judges that seemed to govern his life deemed him worthy of going out on parole, and suddenly as summer ended every year, he departed his cell for the wonder, brilliance and danger of the world outside Privet Drive. Of course, when the school year at Hogwarts ended, he returned to his dreary prison.

This previous year however, things had changed for Harry once more. Harry had met Sirius Black, his rightful Godfather wrongly accused of murder. This was a man who as plain as day loved Harry unconditionally, and outright told him that as soon as circumstances allowed would be taking with him to live together as a family.

 _As soon as circumstances allowed._ That was the kicker, really. Sirius, a falsely accused convict on the run could not take Harry with him. The life that Harry had dreamed of since he was capable of doing so was now being dangled tantalisingly just out of his reach. And because of that, the walls in Privet Drive were closer together than ever before and the bitter atmosphere was ever more suffocating and restrictive.

It was most likely this feeling, that led to Harry's excitable conversations with Sirius by letter, as infrequent by necessity as his letters were. He and Harry had discussed almost every place they could go together besides where they were now. He had always had the urge to escape, and get away - and now that Hogwarts had temporarily allowed him to do that, the desire to get away had morphed slowly into the desire to explore the world.

It was why, he had confided to Sirius, he enjoyed the sneaking around the castle, and the Forbidden Forest that had occurred as part of their escapades the previous years. Exploring places that he had never seen made him feel more alive than just about anything in the world. It was freedom. Freedom from the Dursleys and Privet Drive and freedom from being the Boy-Who-Lived and the constant reminders of the enormous cavern carved into his life the day he was given that moniker. His life's ambition was to be as free from all of the things that held him down.

Sirius had simply told him to _name the places, and we'll explore them together one day._

He groaned and pulled himself away from the window in frustration. He had no muggle coats that would keep him even remotely dry in that kind of downpour, so despite the fact that every instinct in him urged him to head outside and wander to a part of Little Whinging he had not explored yet, he reached for a book, trying to prepare himself for the coming year at Hogwarts.

It wouldn't be long now, and he would be headed towards the Burrow, where he could at least distract himself from the wanderlust with friends and good times.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, a rich mahogany affair, carved beautifully without the aid of magic by Helga Hufflepuff - a fact not many left alive knew - and pondered the letter he had received from Remus Lupin a mere moments ago. Written hurriedly, with flecks of dirt and sweat upon the worn and beaten parchment that reminded him oddly of the man himself, it carried the news that Dumbledore had been fearing ever since Lord Voldemort's fall at the hands of Harry Potter all those many years ago.

Remus, with an old ally in the form of Kinglsey Shacklebolt, had set out to Albania two weeks ago in order to investigate rumours of dark magic and supposed sightings of Bertha Jorkins, a Ministry employee who had gone missing several months ago.

The pair had found her broken body in a ritual clearing deep in Albanian wilderness, her very life energies used to the benefit of her captors, her face mutilated almost beyond recognition; and most disturbingly, with a carving etched deeply into the flesh of her stomach.

A skull with a serpent emerging from it's mouth - the dark mark. Voldemort's mark.

Voldemort was one of a very small number of people in Europe with the knowledge to perform a ritual of the kind Remus described in his letter, and most crucially, Remus' enhanced lycanthropic sense of smell had picked up on the significant odour of one Peter Pettigrew, a former servant of the vanquished Dark Lord.

It was not concrete enough to convince anybody of importance at the Ministry, but it was enough for Dumbledore. Voldemort was close to returning to power, and war was once again on the horizon.

And this time, all the aging headmaster could do was try and stem the tide until the only one who could end it was ready for what laid ahead of him.

It was time to call once again on old friends for assistance. Once again, Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix would be forced to stand before the darkness and fight.

* * *

Gaunt eyes gazed across the table's flickering candlelight at haggard ones in their dimly lit corner of the Danish pub closest to Sirius Black's current place of refuge. Sirius imagined the shadows that his face cast after 12 years of Azkaban and several months on the run were thoroughly unflattering, but for once, Sirius couldn't summon even an ounce of self pity. Remus Lupin's entire stature had an edge to it, a tenseness that Sirius would have recognised even had he spent another decade with the dementors.

"So, He's back then." He scowled even as he said the words - the lives of James and Lily were worth more than a meagre decade of peace.

"Not yet," Remus sighed as he spoke, slumping back into his chair. "But he's close to it. Dumbledore suspects he's even returned to Britain, to prepare for whatever final piece of magic he needs to perform to recover his body."

"And the _Rat_ is with him."

Sirius hadn't been aware his remaining friend's expression could grow any darker, but it did, the deep lines on his faces becoming gulleys carved by time that a man his age couldn't technically have experienced. The last Black knew the feeling.

"He'll be gunning for the kid, Remus. Dumbledore gave me the heads up. Whatever crazy shit James and Lily pulled in Godric's Hollow means he'll have to use Harry for whatever it is he'll do to come back. Dumbledore says to leave it to him - stay off the grid." Sirius left that to hang in the air, despite the anger he felt at the idea. Azkaban had taken it's toll on him emotionally. The humour he remembered being the crux of his personality was frighteningly difficult to conjure now, and plain happiness was almost impossible outside of the brief time he'd spent with his Godson.

Fury ran in his blood though, and that came to him easier than ever. He wondered what the years had done to his friend - how much of the remaining Marauders had been eroded away by their lives.

Remus fiddled unconsciously with strands of his beards, even as his face remained placid as ever and Sirius felt a twinge of triumph. Moony had been doing that to distract himself from anger since he had been old enough to grow facial hair. Triumph was replaced swiftly by bitterness as it occurred to him that he was probably the only person left alive that knew that.

He was fed up with wallowing. The old him had been a man of action - it was time he proved that Sirius Black surviving Azkaban hadn't been at the expense of Padfoot the Maruader.

"I have a plan." Well, loosely speaking anyway.

* * *

"Boy! Down here, now!" Petunia's high pitched screech managed to tear his eyes away from _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection._ He rather thought a suitable response to his aunt's summons was the Curse of the Bogies he knew was contained within it's pages - Vernon on the other hand, deserved something considerably worse. Perhaps a (brief - he didn't quite think the Dursleys deserved death after all) confrontation with a Red Cap?

"Boy!" Against all odds, Petunia's voice had increased in pitch, and Harry was starting to get concerned for the lenses in his glasses.

"Coming Aunt Petunia!" He shouted back, trying to feign as much respect as possible - no need to make whatever ordeal awaited him worse - as he begun to descend the stairs.

Petunia was standing stiffly by the front door, radiating floral patterned anger, and it only took Harry a moment to realise why.

"Professor Lupin?" Harry tried and failed to keep the surprise out of his voice.

"Ah, Harry!" The former professor responded, with a touch more enthusiasm and warmth than his previous position permitted. "Your aunt has very kindly allowed me to take you for a spot of lunch - provided you wish to, of course."

Harry didn't dare speak - his aunt was capricious enough to retract her permission, and he didn't want to chance a thing, so he instead nodded enthusiastically as he walked to the door to join Lupin. The werewolf shot him a smile before turning to Petunia once more. "Thank you again, Mrs Dursley." Harry had no idea how Lupin managed to stay as calm and polite as he did, even as the door shut in their faces as a response. "Charming as James and Lily described her." Remus stated sardonically, giving Harry a sly smile, causing him to snigger quietly as they walked away from Privet Drive.

"How have you been, Professor?"

"That's Remus now, Harry - or Moony if you'd rather. I'm not your professor any longer." Remus responded softly, and Harry wondered if losing his job was still a sore point with the man.

"I'm not sure I'll ever be able to think of you as anything else - you're certainly the best defense professor I've ever had."

"Considering what I have heard, that's not exactly praise Harry, but I'll take it as I think it was intended." Remus paused, considering what to say, and continued quietly. "I've spent much of the summer caring for Padfoot. He's needed the company I think, but is doing as well as can be expected. Physically, he's close to a full recovery. Mentally... Well, that much time in Azkaban will always take a toll."

"Is he going to be okay?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Of course. It will just take time, Harry. You've felt the effect dementors can have - you know what it is they can do just by being close."

Harry did know. It was a sad fact of his life that dementors causing him to hear the worst moments he had ever experienced meant that he heard his mother's voice for the very first time. The dread and hopelessness they instilled was more than Harry had ever felt - even being bitten by a basilisk hadn't had that effect - and yet, he strangely associated them with the sound of his mother.

The conversation went quiet after that, and Harry wondered if he had upset Lupin in some way by bringing up the condition of the man's remaining best friend. For the moment at least, the werewolf seemed to be wrangling with something in his mind.

The meal itself went better. Harry managed to not wolf down the sandwich Lupin had bought him immediately, and had nursed a coke for the whole of the time as they made friendly small talk back and forth. This kind of chat wasn't really within Harry's realm of experience - particularly with adults - but he found himself enjoying it anyway. To spend time with somebody who gave a damn without any of the pressure's of it being a professor or a Dursley was nice, and Remus' interest in even the stupid stuff that he'd been doing and thinking with his time felt... good. The man would have made a good Uncle.

It wasn't until they had both finished eating that he felt Remus' demeanor shift slightly, and Harry became aware that they were coming to the crux of why the man had come all the way to Little Whinging to see him from wherever he had been hiding with Sirius.

"During the war," Remus began softly, "Professor Dumbledore created a group. It worked outside of the Ministry and official channels to combat You-Know-Who and his forces. It was called the Order of the Phoenix."

Harry's breath caught in his throat - he had not been expecting this, and it had caught him rather flat footed.

"Your parents, myself and Sirius were all members - it's how we chose to fight against what You-Know-Who stood for." Lupin took a deep breath. "At the start of the summer, Dumbledore made a call to some of the former members who were still around in order to reform the Order."

"But why would he do that now, not unless-" Harry stopped dead, cold dread preventing the next words from forming in his mouth.

"That's right. Dumbledore thinks he's making his final move soon. You-Know-Who is not far away from regaining his body and former powers, thus starting the war anew."

Harry's mind raced. He supposed he had always known that this would happen. How could he not, with everything that had happened in his First and Second years? He knew full well the man was out there somewhere, less than human, but ever plotting a way to come back to his body. He also knew that Voldemort wanted him dead, and nothing that he had done since becoming a wizard could have changed that. Rejecting an alliance and killing the man Voldemort was possessing would naturally sour an opinion - and that was just his first year at school.

But why was Lupin telling him this - surely this was something for Dumbledore, not a thirteen year old school boy - how could he possibly make a diff- without warning, the pieces fell into place.

"He's going to be coming after me, isn't he?" Harry didn't really want an answer if he was being totally honest.

"You are too sharp for your own good Harry." Remus said with a touch too much sympathy for Harry's liking. "But yes, Dumbledore believes that whatever magic You-Know-Who will attempt to use to regain his body, he will try and involve you in some way."

The cafe he and Remus were in suddenly felt very quiet as he absorbed that news, and found he wasn't really as shell shocked as he ought to have been. For some reason, the idea of Voldemort targeting him felt _right_. As if that was how it _should_ be.

At the same time of course, Harry was quietly aware that as much as he had faced in his short life, a fully powered Lord Voldemort would be far too much.

Lupin used the quiet to press on. "Dumbledore would have preferred to keep you in the dark regarding this - to stop you from worrying, and to allow you to enjoy the year. Myself and Padfoot felt differently. You deserve to understand what is happening in your life Harry, and you deserve to have some support in dealing with it. Padfoot and I intend to be that support. Once you are back at school, I am going to find a way to meet with you and we can start to look out for you as we should have been doing from the start." Remus fixed him with a peculiar look, and Harry all too slowly realised it was the look of a person that genuinely cared for him.

"You've faced too much already alone and completely unprepared. It's not going to be the case again. Sirius and I will see to that."

* * *

Dumbledore watched the copper instrument in front of him shift slightly in his hands and ring softly in a manner not unlike a doorbell indicating Remus Lupin's magical signature had just left Little Whinging. Remus was of course unaware that Albus had placed detection wards that covered the whole of the small town in which Harry Potter lived - only of the intent based blood wards that protected Harry from any who would do him harm.

He leant back in his chair, ignoring the murmurings of the portraits that surrounded him, quietly contemplating how he would respond to this development.

The fate of Harry Potter was too important to leave to chance alone.


	2. Earned, Not Given

_Stand Tall - The Rise of Harry Potter_

 _Chapter 2_

Earned, Not Given

* * *

Harry arrived back in his room at Number 4 Privet Drive with his head spinning. Voldemort was back - or at least, he was going to be. Not only that, but for the first time in his wizarding life, someone had warned him ahead of time of the danger that faced him. No secrets, no protecting him from the truth - no hiding. Harry had thought that he wanted this - to be told, to be included. But now that it had actually happened - now that he knew what awaited him, he wasn't nearly as sure. He was frightened. Terrified, even.

The most powerful dark wizard in centuries wanted him dead, and would be coming to make true on that sooner than Harry really wanted to think about. He was used to himself, Ron and Hermione flying by the seat of their pants - he was used to simply reacting to the things that were happening in front of him. He never really had time to be scared of facing the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. The thing had Ginny Weasley, and Harry was standing in front of it with a sword and a ragged old hat before second thoughts had really become an issue. Now, he had all the time in the world to contemplate what he would do.

To think about, a small part of him whispered quietly, how he would escape from all of this madness.

Except he didn't think he would ever get to escape. If Voldemort wanted him that badly he would follow wherever Harry went - he had just spent a good while hiding in Albania after all. Moreover, Harry got the distinct impression that Dumbledore would stop him from leaving if he ever tried, even if he couldn't pinpoint why. So what was left for him to do? He couldn't run, and he didn't stand a chance against Voldemort. He was, more than he had ever been, trapped with no way to escape what seemed to be his fate.

He fumbled the miniature briefcase Lupin had given him in his pocket anxiously. The instruction to _open it alone, with your wand and the password that you know_ meant next to nothing in reality, but it still managed to give him some strange comfort. Sirius and his former professor had a reason for telling him these things now - there was a plan. He hoped there was anyway.

Vernon and Petunia had hit the hay a good hour ago, and Dudley never bothered him in the room any more - now was as good a time as any. He fumbled under his pillow for his holly and phoenix feather wand, and tapped the oddly worn toy briefcase lightly.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good." The phrase meant so much more now that he knew who had come up with it, and as the final word reverently left his lips, the briefcase vibrated heavily in his hands before expanding enormously in size, and Harry kicked himself for not recognising the obvious shrinking charm. The 'toy' had become a deep red full sized briefcase, much like the one the Chancellor of the Exchequer used to announce a new budget in muggle politics - albeit a battered and worn version.

Harry stopped dead in the silence of Number 4. The trunk enlarging had made no noise, but the idea of being caught with something magical here heightened his paranoia immeasurably. Vernon's snores echoed noisily through the house, but no other sounds could be heard - Dudley had evidently gone to bed, and Petunia was somehow managing to sleep next to the human jackhammer that was her husband.

He gave it another moment, just to be sure, before approaching the case slowly. He still had to make sure he wasn't heard - Dudley picking up on what he was doing was equally disastrous for Harry's summer. The zip was stiff at first, but it gave way easily enough, paving the way for the smell of of dust and old leather that emerged. It was oddly reminiscent of the less traveled sections Hogwarts library, which Harry supposed was fitting, as the first thing he removed was a bundle of thick leather tomes, tied together by two pieces of lightly frayed twine.

Attached, was a note written on yellowed parchment, in a script that Harry had already come to recognise on sight.

 _Hey Kid,_

 _I would much rather be able to do this in person, but it's going to be a while before that's possible. I'm certain your head must be absolutely spinning by now, wondering exactly why we would tell you everything about this now. In short, it's because we believe in you. I believe in you. You're a powerful wizard Harry - your patronus in the forest proved that beyond all doubt - I couldn't have cast that, even in my prime. You are intelligent, resourceful, and if your stories of everything that has happened at Hogwarts so far are even remotely true, you are brave beyond your years._

 _I believe that you can handle knowing this - regardless of whether Dumbledore agrees. Remus thinks the same._

 _I can't imagine how you feel right now, but know that we have your back. Me, Remus and anyone else we think we can trust enough to rope into this madness will be with you every step of the way._

 _This case is just the first small step of that. Moony was always far more academically inclined than any of us back in the day, so I had him put together a list of 'essentials' for you and acquire them with my family's money. The most important weapon you can arm yourself with is knowledge Harry. Knowledge and skill. It's going to take work - a lot of it in fact, but as I've said, you have the smarts and you more than have the power. You've used those gifts to keep yourself alive when the shit hits the fan (muggles have the best expressions), but now you've got the time to prepare, so use those gifts to do so._

 _James and Lily were brilliant wizards Harry - but they didn't get that way on their natural talent alone. James studied his arse off, despite the marauders' extra-curricular interests. Thanks to that, his skills with transfiguration were quite frankly ridiculous, and he could more than dance with Voldemort's best. Lily was if anything even more studious. She brought potion's knowledge that could match Snape's before he took his mastery in the subject, and a cleverness with charms that made Flitwick so giddy, there were several occasions I thought he might explode._

 _You're not your parents Harry, and it's unfair that everybody seems to immediately compare you to them just because they're not here anymore, but that doesn't mean you don't have things to learn from them. Can you honestly say that you've worked hard at Hogwarts - I know you love it there, but have you really pushed yourself to be the best that you can be and learn everything it has to teach?_

 _That's your first step Harry. Life is short, and with Voldemort moving again there's no telling what can happen, so make the most of all the time that you've got. Work hard, and for the love of Merlin Harry, play hard too. Forget what your parents were good at, but take their example and become amazing at the things you would like to be good at._

 _This Boy-Who-Lived thing is never going to go away, so stop hiding. Instead, become known for something that you can be proud of._

 _Me and Remus have tried to find useful things that cover most of the areas of magic that you might want to start with, and we've thrown in a healthy stock of potions materials and other assorted goodies to boot. Yes, you should work on your potions. Snape makes it miserable, but it's a really important skill, so at least get somewhat good at it._

 _Other people can help you find the way Harry - I'll do everything in my power to see you right - but if you truly want to be free from all of the bullshit, it's time for you to stand tall and walk that path yourself._

 _Love you kid, more than you realise._

 _Padfoot._

A significant portion of Harry wanted to tantrum, even if he knew it was stupid to. He was angry, and for the briefest of moments as he read, had seriously considered letting Sirius know just how much.

But he didn't.

He had known the man, realistically, for a month or so. Really, he had no right to be lecturing Harry about anything. And yet any anger he felt seemed to disappear into nothing like sand through a sieve. Really, it boiled down to the fact that in just a month, Sirius had nailed him down to a tee. His Godfather's implication that he didn't work hard enough was right on the money. He didn't.

He wasn't quite sure why either. He got into trouble if he got higher grades than Dudley at muggle primary school - but he didn't go there any more. Sure, Ron ]might be a touch disgruntled, but the Weasley wasn't so petty that he'd be _that_ jealous. They were best friends after all. He loved Hogwarts, he loved learning about magic, and he certainly loved performing it - so why wasn't he working as hard as he could.

Sirius had cracked that too. It had taken the man actually writing it, but Harry could see it as the truth. He didn't want to stand out any more than he already did. He hated the fame that he had inadvertently acquired, and he hated what it represented. He had lost everything and was called the Boy-Who-Lived for it. So subconsciously Harry had tried to slip into the background. He only really spoke to Ron and Hermione, and he put in the bare minimum effort required to get a pass so he wouldn't be noteworthy.

It was a ridiculous attitude - he would always be the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry couldn't change that no matter how much he tried, so why let it hamstring him. Why let it inconvenience him any more than it already did?

His Godfather was right. About all of it. His problems weren't going away, no matter how badly he wanted them to. The only thing he could control was how he dealt with them.

Harry wanted freedom. Freedom from the Dursleys, from Voldemort, from anything that was holding him back from making his own choices in life. Wanting, he realised, was what children did.

It was high time he earned it.

* * *

Sirius hadn't been lying when he said they had tried to cover all bases. Lupin had provided him with a veritable library of books in the trunk, and Harry had pulled several more piles of books from the trunk that had apparently been magically enlarged on the inside. The werewolf had organised them by rough subject - the first he had pulled out had been a small set of potions manuals - as well as added small notes to guide Harry with how he should go about actually starting to study them.

It was an interesting feeling. For once, things were being explained to him. Not just Voldemort of course, but in his notes, Lupin had made sure to include reasons why each area of study was important - both to him as someone being targeted by Voldemort, but also as someone who knew nothing of the magical world outside of Hogwarts.

He had always known potions were useful - how could he not after Snape's opening day speech? But he had no idea they were as vital to daily wizarding life as they were, and just how many professions used potions on a regular basis. For example, Aurors used potions to breathe underwater during any investigation that required it; and curse breakers used the same because wards that locked and flooded the room an intruder was in were a common defense. It gave his sallow-faced and spiteful professor's area of expertise a whole new shine of importance.

It put things in perspective for him a great deal. Transfiguration for example, a very theory heavy subject, had always been interesting to him on an academic level. Practically however, he had never given it a great deal of relevance to reality because of the amount of theory, and the specific nature of the spells that they learned in class. Reading his former defense professor wax lyrical about how James Potter used transfiguration to incredible effect when he dueled and the nature of what he was capable of after mastering the discipline, motivated him more than anything Professor McGonagall had ever demonstrated or said.

Besides maybe that first day in class when she had leapt of her desk in cat form and changed into their stern professor to give them a shock of course. Idly, Harry wondered if that was the reason she had done it - to give them all a glimpse of what her area of magical expertise could do when mastered.

Lupin's notes finally began to give him an insight into how the magical world beyond Hogwarts worked, and how his studies related, and Harry found that finally having a reason why he needed to know the things he was being asked to learn was incredibly motivating. Not quite as much as the thought that any of the knowledge he picked up between now and when Voldemort finally caught up to him could be the piece that saved his life of course, but it definitely helped.

So Harry did the only thing he really could. He decided to throw himself at the gauntlet Sirius had laid down for him. Sitting around stressing wasn't going to get him anywhere, and neither was blind panic - those things had never been who they were, and Harry wasn't going to let them become that just because the challenges he faced had gotten bigger. He decided to use his current school homework as a basis, work through what he had to do, and then build on that knowledge with what Remus had given him. Any piece of knowledge could be important, and knowing that he opted to resist the temptation to focus on Defense above everything else.

Everybody had their own expectations for the Boy-Who-Lived. It was time that he found out what _he_ could do.

When he really put his mind to it, when he focused and worked as hard as he could - just what was Harry Potter made of?

* * *

Alastor Moody sat alone, nursing a whisky, lit by nothing but a magically sustained log fire.

The hardened ex-auror examined the gently curving, reflective surface that was a focal point of his front room with great consternation. It was a foe glass. On it's surface, he could see his own reflection with a group of distorted shadowy figures milling around behind him that were not really present. This was a banned magical artifact - he only had thanks to the years of hard service and sacrifice that he had provided to the Ministry hunting and catching dark wizards. A foe glass displayed one's enemies besides their reflection - the closer they were, the closer Moody was to danger from them.

He smiled grimly and stood, grasping his walking stick firmly. Two of the figures had their grimy hands upon the shoulder of his reflection.

Grim smile turned to snarl as he felt his entire ward system connected to his abode collapse around him - somebody already must be inside to have done that, meaning he wasn't nearly as defensible as he had thought. Moody knew full well he was by himself, and in some ways that suited him as he moved his wand around him with short, precise movements. That was just fine, as it meant he could activate the more deadly single use runes in place around him entirely separate from the building's actual ward scheme.

They might have disabled his ward scheme, but they had another thing coming if they thought getting to him would be easy.

Footsteps caused his magical eye to swivel wildly towards his front door, spying his intruder through the solid walls of his home. His eyes widened fractionally as he realised who it was that had come for him with his wand drawn and what it meant. But, before he could react, a fierce reductor curse turned his door to chunks of wood which were immediately frozen and suspended in mid-air, before being launched at him at speed.

Moody was already reacting however, raising his walking stick and pushing it to the floor, turning the shards to sawdust that seemed to land everywhere but Moody's person.

"Alastar Moody, how _are_ you old chum." The man, dressed in a ragged lilac suit complimented with all too wild eyes. "Did you miss me while I was away?" He finished with a manic smile, wand pointed right at the old auror.

"Barty Crouch Jr. - I have no idea how you managed to escape but it's going to be a pleasure putting you in the ground." Moody snarled, already beginning the motions to cast with his staff. Two spells pulsed from the top - a pair of particularly vicious cutters Moody had picked up from a perp several decades ago - favourites of his when not on official ministry business and he could afford to play dirty.

Crouch dodged the first, and knocked the second away with a slash of his wand - beginning to get in the motions of the duel, crazed smile affixed to his face. It faltered however, as a pair of obnoxiously large iron arrows seemed to phase out of the wall itself, and launch at him at speed. That, combined with several flashes of spellfire that Moody fired to press his advantage, forced to to roll to the left wildly, summoning a table in front of him as he came to a stop to meet some particularly dark curses that Moody knew Crouch had been fond of using during his death eater days.

A piercing curse followed, and Crouch was forced on the move again as it punctured a hole in the wooden table like a muggle gunshot. Crouch managed to return fire as he did so however, wand moving at a remarkable rate as he chose spells that flowed into each other's movements. It was an advanced dueling technique, spell chaining, and Moody couldn't help but remember that the first time he had taken down Barty Crouch jr. it was by cursing him in the back as he tried to flee a courtroom.

During his death eater days however, Crouch had been a ferocious duelist, a close to a match for the former auror. A decade had passed since then, and Moody would have been lying if he wasn't feeling it.

He tweaked his staff again unleashing some of his nastier single use wards that were built into his home - more arrows, some stored elemental spells and other assorted nastiness kept Crouch on the back foot, giving him a moment to begin animating his furniture to attack. The couch morphed into a tiger before him and bounded after the escaped death eater with low growl, when his eye caught a flash of movement all too close to him - a rat!

The rodent leapt at him and Moody had a fraction of a moment to wonder what Crouch's game was, before that rat became a stout, chubby wizard that already had his wand raised into a banisher that caught the ex-auror completely flat footed and sent him flying through his living room wall in a burst of rubble and debris.

Moody knew immediately he was dead. Constant vigilance was his motto, and he had been caught out by Peter fucking Pettigrew of all the no good traitorous bastards. Quite frankly, he deserved the death he knew was coming.

"Can't you do anything right, Pettigrew? We were supposed to do this quietly, you imbecile." Crouch spat fuzzily, as Moody struggled in vain to to regain his senses enough to do something in the time he had.

"Yeah, because a full scale duel with Mad-Eye bloody Moody wasn't going to attract any attention." Pettigrew shot back. Even in his state, Moody could pick up the quiver in his voice as he was speaking to Crouch.

"I'm going to kill you Pettigrew. Not today, not soon, but make no mistake. Our master doesn't need failures, or traitors - and you are both." They were over him now, and suddenly Moody could no longer move - a body bind. Horrified realisation began to sweep over him as he understood finally what was happening. "Anyways, night night Mad-Eye, it was a _pleasure - stupefy!"_

Death? No Alastor Moody had never been that lucky.

Darkness took him.


	3. The Quidditch World Cup

**A/N:** **Moody being attacked seems to be getting mentioned a lot. That's my bad - I didn't remember that the time of the attack was quite as clear as it actually was. I had thought it was more ambiguous, and decided to have it happen now. I'm not going to change it, so I suppose we'll have to see if the accidental change in timeline will have any more interesting consequences!**

* * *

 _Stand Tall - The Rise of Harry Potter_

 _Chapter III_

 _The Quidditch World Cup_

* * *

Dumbledore looked out across the majestic grounds of his school that stretched further across the beautiful Scottish countryside than most thought, absently stroking the crown of his phoenix familiar, Fawkes. It was a familiar, comforting action - one he took when he needed to contemplate difficult things.

For a good decade, that difficult thing was most often either Lord Voldemort, or Harry Potter.

The reason for his consternation at this moment, was Arthur Weasley's request to take Harry to the Quidditch World Cup, something that normally Dumbledore wouldn't have hesitated to allow - he had, in fact allowed it. The decision worried at his mind however. Times were growing ever darker, and the large portion of British wizarding society was wholly unaware. Bertha Jorkins, whose disappearance was being blamed on Sirius Black, was dead. Killed by Voldemort or Peter Pettigrew; the pair of which were now somewhere in Britain again, plotting a return for the most powerful Dark Lord this isle had seen since the days of the Founders themselves.

Severus' mark was beginning to burn anew, a surefire sign that Voldemort was recovering his strength, and the man had reported that those similarly afflicted were planning a move to show publicly that they were still loyal should their master return.

The Quidditch World Cup would be a prime target, and many of the Death Eaters who had escaped imprisonment were attending.

Really, Dumbledore should have forbidden it. Harry was safest at the Dursley's of course. Not the happiest, Dumbledore couldn't refute that, but definitely safe. But just how much misery was the boy expected to suffer thanks to Dumbledore's own decisions? All in the name of _the greater good._ The phrase still sounded like a curse to him, even after all this time, yet he couldn't deny it was a key philosophy by which he was forced to make decisions. Without Harry, the headmaster was positive they were all lost - but just how much was he going to suffer for their victory.

This would be far easier if in his place stood Grindlewald - a man who lived and breathed by the greater good. He would not be phased by Harry's suffering, it would simply be _necessary_.

Albus could never bring himself to think like that. Not for anybody who fought with him during the first war, and not about anybody now - even as he moved them about like pawns on a chessboard, even as he decided who must be sacrificed for a victory or advantage they desperately needed.

Dumbledore cared. About every single one of them. And so Harry Potter was going to the Quidditch World Cup, because despite the risks, Albus just couldn't find it in himself to deny him it.

* * *

Harry enjoyed Quidditch. It was fast paced, held a hint of danger, and gave him a rush that perhaps for most people that weren't him, was pretty unparalleled. But most importantly, he got to fly. Now _that_ was where Harry's true passion lay. There was just something about flying that seemed to connect with him on a deep level. The wind rushing through his hair, pushing himself to go even faster - even more daring. _The freedom_. Yeah, flying was what really got Harry's motor running. It was why he enjoyed being a seeker. He didn't have to learn plays or positions, he didn't have to think about anything besides dodging bludgers and flying faster than the other guy.

So, in all honesty, he had very little interest in the Quidditch World Cup. All the same, he was excited to be away from the Dursleys, and more than excited to see an aspect of normal wizarding life he hadn't yet seen. The fortnight or so of reading he had done had been ridiculously informative, and surprisingly, incredibly interesting. The major effect it had in reality however, was letting Harry know in no uncertain terms how much he _didn't_ know. It was perenially annoying to be a prominent figure in the wizarding world, and yet having no idea how it actually worked at all.

Two weeks couldn't fill in that gap, not by a longshot.

What he did know however, that he hadn't prior to him getting all those books from Sirius and Remus, was what a portkey was without having to ask Mr Weasley. It was an item enchanted to, when touched, transport those touching it to a pre-determined location. It was a wondrous piece of magic Harry thought privately, and a rather ingenious way to disguise an escape route.

The fact that this was the first idea he thought of for what to use a portkey for had only disturbed him a little.

Plus, anything that led to this motley crew consisting of the Weasley family, a Hufflepuff named Cedric Diggory, and the Puff boy's father all standing around a wellington boot in a field in Devon at midnight just _had_ to be a good thing.

Cedric was a good sort - a shoe in for head boy, and had always seemed friendly enough from what Harry had seen of him. He had quite happily chatted away to him and Ron, despite the fact the pair were a fair bit younger, without seeming patronising at all. His father hadn't really paid any of them besides Mr Weasley any mind, and the two had spoken animatedly about some piece of legislation or other that involved both of their departments at the Ministry. This time, Harry not understanding didn't embarrass him - he was quite certain Ron didn't have a scooby either.

Speaking of his red-haired best mate, Ron hadn't managed to stop talking about Quidditch since Harry had arrived at the Burrow, and Harry was reasonably certain he had only stopped now because they were about to take a portkey to the Quidditch World Cup. Whilst Harry's true passion was flying, and Quidditch was just the way he got his fix for it; Ron's heart had Quidditch written across it in thick marker pen. In fact, Harry was fairly sure his blood ran orange, the colours of the 'mighty' Chudley Cannons, Ron's favourite team.

After a moment that Mr Weasley used to count that everybody was still with them (Fred and George were part of their retinue after all), he finally reached out to touch the boot, having instructed everybody to hold hands, so that they'd all be transported at once.

When he had Floo traveled previously, Harry had no preparation - no clue about how to remain upright, or how Floo travel felt. The consequence was him falling on his arse in a disturbing shop on Diagon Alley's 'bad side of town'. This time however was different. He had spotted a piece on portkeys in one of the books Remus had sent him and when he heard how they were travelling, he read up extensively. _Often, inexperienced travellers will find themselves disoriented and fail to land on their feet. The trick is to retain a looseness in the knees, as if one was falling from a great height..._ Harry felt the described pull at his navel, alongside a slight touch of nausea that he was also prepared for as his group wizards were pulled from Stoatshead Hill to a largely 'deserted' moor in Dartmoor almost instantaneously.

* * *

"And Ireland score _again -_ really, Krum is Bulgaria's only hope in this game. Of course, the Bulgaria chasers have to keep their side in the game or that to happen." There was a discernible wince from the crowd, and Harry actually heard Grogov's broom splinter as one of Ireland's beater sent a bludger clean through the tip of his broom handle and into his thigh, sending the heavy-set man spiraling at the ground. "But that isn't the way to do it! Byrne cleverly shields McCormack from view as the beater lined up his shot, and moves only when Grogov has no time to react! Brutal but effective! Bulgaria reduced to two chasers as Ireland attack again, and the Eastern Europeans ready one of their reserves..."

If that leg wasn't broken when the bludger hit it - it certainly was after the ground did.

Harry knew better than most how Grogov was feeling, having tasted this particularly clogged variety of dirt immediately after their portkey trip. _Maybe I should have warned Grogov to keep his bloody knees loose._ Apparently, there was more to portkey travel than loosening the knees. Normally, he would have taken the fall with good humour and a cleaning charm cast by Mr Weasley. Harry had thought he was prepared however - he had been confident, only to end up face first in a Devonshire bog anyway. That more than anything had soured the experience, even after Mr Weasley had taken him side to offer some encouragement and the knowledge that magical travel was largely just practice.

People fell all the time when they're first learning, he had said. What he hadn't said was that wizards tended to have most of their portkey mishaps at age five.

Still, Hermione had met them at the entrance to the site - her parents able to join in the festivities because of her status as a muggleborn - and her presence made the dealing with a game that wasn't particularly grabbing his attention but had seemed to ensnare the Weasleys a bit more easy. The Granger's seemed to be nice folks, both of them introducing themselves with enthusiasm, but they too couldn't keep their eyes off of the game, and Mrs Granger seemed to have a question for Bill or Mr Weasley who were closest to her every few minutes.

It was a weird mix, made decidedly weirder that they were being joined in their top box seats by the Minister for Magic, Fudge, and the entire Malfoy family. Tensions were high, restrained only by the fact that Mr Weasley and Malfoy's boss was sharing their box. Even Draco was on his best behaviour, barring what he must believe passed for a subtle smirk. It was a setting Harry hadn't been aware that they Malfoy scion had.

Still, Harry resolved to ignore them, and ignore them he did. Lucius did have a quick parting jab aimed at the Weasley's poverty, but this time the Weasley patriach held his temper - an example that the entire clan followed.

Harry had never properly considered Arthur Weasley. The man was a friendly, slightly eccentric parent, who seemed to leave most of the disciplining to his wife, preferring to be the voice of reason in any family disagreement. That said, he clearly possessed the temper that most of his sons seemed to carry - even the twins, in their own cheerfully unhinged manner. But, as they left the box to return to their tent, the scene wouldn't leave his mind. Ron had been fantastically seething and Harry had recognised the signs of an outburst well enough.

But one look at his father, and Ron had squared his shoulders and marched out behind the man, teeth grinding all the way. Even Bill and Charlie, men in their own right, had fought back their tempers at their father's example. Harry realised that, as quiet and unassuming as the man was, each and every one of his children respected him just as much as they did their mother.

As somebody who had never known his father, Harry couldn't help but wonder just what Arthur Weasley had done to warrant the respect that his sons had for him.

Suddenly, above the hubbub following Ireland's victory, a pillar of flame erupted about 100 feet away from their group - roaring to the sky as if Dartmoor had been the site of a volcano and nobody had noticed. Harry's feet were moving to obey Mr Weasley's sharp "the tent - now!" Before he had even registered that the man had spoken. It was lucky that he did. Barely a few more moments passed before the screams started, and Harry became aware that this was more than just a spell misfire or something accidental.

A look over his shoulder revealed pure chaos - people ran in all directions, and jets of light shot everywhere, igniting tents and sending debris flying. A searing bolt shot past Harry before he could react, setting a tent alight several paces from him.

He hoped to God nobody had been in there.

Suddenly, Ron went down, and he and Hermione instinctively paused to help their friend who had simply tripped. They pulled Ron to his feet and Harry's heart sank as he realised only Mr Granger had stayed with them and the rest of the Weasley's were nowhere in sight. He looked back, peering through the crowds and could make out something floating above several wizards wearing long, black cloaks. One was focused on what was above them, while the other two were firing the spells causing all the chaos.

Bodies. That wizard was floating bodies over their heads.

"We have to move. Ron, you good?" His best mate nodded, his face ashen having spotted exactly what Harry had.

"Where too though, Harry?" It was Hermione, but Harry knew they had no time to make a proper plan.

"Away from here, we stay and we're getting trampled or worse, now let's go - Mr Granger, stay close, you don't have a wand."

Harry darted off, his best friends and a muggle in tow, keeping low as best he could. Even as he moved, trying to plot a course for the woods, well away from the main line of fire, he could feel his anger start to simmer. Hundreds of wizards, and only a handful of people had them all running in terror. Not one person had stood against whoever it was that was attacking the campsite. Harry had been tempted, but knew full well that they were outmatched even without having somebody with no magic relying on them to get him away from here

"Haha! Over here boys - a muggle!"

A purple flash of light caught Hermione before Harry had any idea what was going on, and it was only instinct that allowed him to shove Ron out of the way of a second curse giving him a moment to get his wand. He fumbled, hand nervous, trying to get the thing out of his pocket and he felt an invisible force impact him heavily as he was banished backwards across the campsite.

"Now, now boy. We've no interest in harming our own. We've only come for the _sport_ that has managed to slither in to this wizarding effect - _levicorpus!"_ Mr Granger was violently jerked upside down, as if being strung up by his left angle, and the attacker in all black cackled wildly, his strange golden mask distorting his voice slightly. The man, twitched his wand, and Hermione's father jerked in the air before falling to the ground, the impact resulting in a sickening crunch. The man barely managed a gasping cry of pain before being hauled up again, and Harry could watch this no longer.

He surged to his feet having kept hold of his wand, and dashed towards the man, eyes narrowed. The man simply laughed again at Harry's actions, but was rudely cut off by the cry of " _expelliarmus!"_ From the soon to be Fourth Year student. The man didn't even drop Mr Granger as he sidestepped Harry's initial attack; but was forced to as it was followed by two well cast reductor curses.

"You have power, boy, but it is no compensation for skill." The man in the mask snarled, as he swatted away the attacks with the tip of his wand, before snapping off a pair of curses of his own that were two differing shades of purple. Harry dodged the first, his reflexes sharp, but the second struck him on the thigh. Pain surged through his leg as if he had insects burrowing under his skin, and without warning his entire world flipped upside down. He was suddenly phenomenally disorientated, struggling to understand his new visual perspective.

He did however realise their assailant had turned back to find that Mr Granger was not where he had been left, and Ron had already levitated the man a decent distance away through Harry's distraction.

Triumph was short lived, as a second voice appeared from nowhere. "You always were too soft - anybody not marked by the master is an enemy to be punished - _crucio!"_ Ron collapsed in a boneless pile, screaming violently through gritted teeth. Harry tried to stand, but his legs collapsed under his as he struggled to balance with everything upside down.

"Idiot, this was supposed to be-"

Whatever was being said was interrupted as something in the background bathed the landscape in a sinister fluorescent green, catching their attacker's attention.

"Whatever, leave them. That's our cue." The two disappeared, and Harry rolled himself in the direction of the glow, even as his scar began to faintly burn.

The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was a colossal skull, composed of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue; rising higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke.

* * *

"We never stood a chance."

"Of course you didn't, you idiot - you're 14." Harry loved that Sirius had managed to sneak himself into St. Mungo's to see him, as terrifyingly risky as it was, but his frankness was taking some adjusting to.

"But I couldn't even-" Sirius just cast a silencing charm on him, smirking victoriously at his Godson, a hint of the humour that he had been famed for returned to his face.

"What? Duel two experienced death eaters to defeat whilst protecting Ron and your friend's muggle dad? Really?" But then the man seemed to pause in thought for a moment before speaking again, his prior obnoxiousness absent. "Come to think of it, you probably do think you should have won. Dumbledore is a great storyteller you know. I imagine it must feel like after killing a basilisk and that patronus stunt last year, two wizards should be nothing."

Harry just stared back, sullenly - that had been his _exact_ train of though. Between attempts at ignoring whatever hideous perfume charm that St. Mungo's had to cover the smell of sterility that all hospitals - magical or muggle - had.

"You've done some pretty exceptional shit Harry - I'd be insane to deny it. Think about it though - when have you ever gone wand to wand with another wizard? The things you've done, they're definitely amazing. You have incredible instincts, a good head on your shoulders, and the grits and guts to match. But death eaters are people that have fought a war, Harry. People that have spent a decade using their wands to fight and wreak havoc. You've got a fair ways to go in skill before facing that. Did you even recognise what the one at tagged you was throwing at you?"

Harry didn't have to answer, not really. He gaze just dropped down to his ivory sheets. The guilt he felt was insane. Hermione had gone down to something far worse than what he had been hit with in an ambush he had taken them right into. He hadn't been able to defend any of them, including himself, and what silence had come his way since he had woken up this morning was filled with the sound of his best friend screaming under a torture curse.

"Harry, you're going to get better. Before long, even death eaters will think twice before crossing wands with you - but you can't torture yourself over things you can't change. Use it instead. Let that guilt you feel drive you. When you feel like taking it easy, remember how this felt and use it to push you that little bit further. It's what me and your father did."

That drew his attention. "Really? He felt like this?"

"Kid, we fought in the first war. When we lost, people died - our friends and comrades. Me and James, well, we decided that we would do everything we could to not have to lose anybody we could have saved. I'd gotten bored of thinking 'what if I'd been a little better?'" The man sighed and paused, and even Harry could tell how difficult it was for him to talk about this. "The golden rule, Harry. No-one died, so you won. That's all there is to it. Ron and Hermione are still kicking; so even though your arses took a beating, you still won. Now all you have to do is work out what your mistakes were, and make sure you don't make them again."

Harry knew his only mistake really had been being an inexperienced fourteen year old. Voldemort was returning though, and this was the opening exchange in a war that had been dormant for most of his life.

That excuse didn't apply any more. Being completely honest - when had it ever?


	4. A Weasley Summer

!

* * *

 _Stand Tall - The Rise of Harry Potter_

 _Chapter IV_

 _A Weasley Summer_

* * *

 _Artaire Rutus_ , or the artery rotting curse was a painfully dark curse, used almost exclusively on muggles by European dark wizards during Grindlewald's attempt to conquer magical Europe in the early 20th Century. Fantastically painful if untreated, Voldemort's Death Eaters picked it up several years into the the First Wizarding War when Voldemort began recruiting on the continent in order to expand his power base. Death Eaters used similarly to Grindlewald's followers - to attack muggles and muggleborns who wouldn't be able to perform the counter-curse, or even recognise that they had been cursed at all.

The counter-curse, Hermione had been told, was taught to healers as a matter of course. During the conflict with Voldemort, the Ministry had even begun to put out pamphlets with the instructions for the counter curse printed on them, just in case. It was rarely ever needed however, as most people cursed with it didn't even realise they had been hit with it as they were muggles. Hermione Granger was of a higher than average intelligence, and was more than capable of making the connections the adults who were helping to repair the damage the curse had done to her arteries were unwilling to make out loud.

As a muggleborn witch, she had been specifically targeted with a curse that she wouldn't have been able to cure if she hadn't received help at the campsite. Arthur Weasley, God bless him, had thought to check for dark curses when he had arrived to find her, Ron and Harry all unconscious and worse for wear after being attacked. The artery rotting curse had knocked her out, but the truly dark effects that would have caused her arteries to slowly decay over several weeks might not have been detected right away. If she had gone home, muggle doctors would have been able to do nothing. She would have died.

Ignoring the childish prejudices of someone like Draco Malfoy had been easy. Mentally marginalising people like Malfoy because of the fact that they were children and stupid had allowed her to avoid considering the idea that their actions were the symptoms of a wider problem in the society she was becoming a part of.

A fully grown adult using the only potentially deadly attack on her because of who she was, was a touch more difficult to ignore.

Quite frankly, Hermione Granger was scared. There was a subset of wizarding society, a minority large enough to have helped Voldemort wage a guerrilla war, that viewed muggleborns like her as subhuman. As an invasive species that needed to be culled. What's more, as Harry's friend, she was well aware that the creature these people had been led by in the last war was still out there, trying to regain a body. If Voldemort were to return, her and her family's safety would be in serious doubt.

It was a tricky position to be in, not in the least because Hermione wasn't sure she had a choice anymore. She was a known muggleborn - already a target for these people. All trying to leave the magical world behind would achieve was making her even less prepared than she had been at the World Cup. Moreover, Harry and Ron were her first and only real friends. Ron was a pureblood wizard in a family aligned to Dumbledore's cause, and Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived - a person already targeted by Voldemort. When he returned, both of her best friends would be unable to avoid the conflict, and the idea of abandoning them absolutely sickened her.

So the only option was to stay. Stay, learn, and if it came to it, fight - though Hermione was really hoping it didn't. For all of her knowledge and supposed magical talent, a duel was a very different thing, and she was about as inexperienced as it came. Even Harry, who had instincts about as good as they came and unnerving habit of being able to keep a cool head and overcome dangerous situations, had been handily defeated. Quite honestly, she was very certain fighting was as far away from her skill set as you could possibly be, apart from something ridiculous like Quidditch.

But this was now her situation. She and her two best friends were in hospital beds recovering from a brutal attack by potential Death Eaters, so what choice did she have?

She only hoped that she had what it took in her to really be able to help her friends when they needed it, like she knew they would be able to do for her.

* * *

It was after visiting hours, and St. Mungos Wizarding Hospital wasn't exactly as secure as Hogwarts' corridors after dark. After Filch, Mrs Norris and the prowling Professor Snape, dodging the sparse patrols of night healers was pretty close to child's play for the now-mobile Ron and Harry. Several adventures through the darkened corridors of Hogwarts had prepared them well for this, and the pair moved together with a practiced efficiency, communicating mostly through head movements and vaguely amusing facial expressions.

The ward that the third member of their team was located was up a flight of stairs, reflecting her more serious condition. Though on the mend, Hermione was not yet on her feet like Harry and Ron and though they had been to visit with the Weasleys and Grangers present, they hadn't truly hadn't had a chance to _talk._ So of course, as soon as night fell, and their families had been forced to return home (the Dursley's had been notified of Harry's injuries, but had not come), Harry and Ron had met up to visit their injured friend.

Finally, they came to Spell Damage Ward 3; a large room with rows of beds separated by blue hospital curtains. It looked remarkable like a muggle hospital ward from the 50s, without any of the medical instruments and the addition of an animated mop and bucket casually cleaning the floor with perhaps a little more water than necessary. It strangely reminded Harry of a younger supermarket employee with an attitude problem. Their friend's bed was about halfway down, and Harry had noted through the day that the curtains had silencing charms on them so that the patients could have some privacy.

Thoughtful, and incredibly useful when it came to a stealthy night time visit.

"How are you feeling Hermione?" Harry was the first to ask. The bushy-haired with smiled tiredly at them, but in truth, looked miles better than she had even yesterday. The colour had returned to her skin, and her eyes held something of the life and determination they had before the attack.

"Better, quite honestly. Mr Weasley performing the counter-curse right away really saved me a lot of pain. I'm more just tired now than anything else." She finished with a smile at both of them.

"I guess us coming this late isn't exactly the most helpful thing then." Ron was joking, but all of them heard the touch of guilt and worry his voice held.

"Really Ron - don't be silly! You're my best friends, and in my opinion seeing you guys is the best thing for my recovery. I really do appreciate it you know." Harry couldn't help but smirk at how quickly the red flush blossomed across his friend's face from Hermione's words. "Besides," she continued matter-of-factly, ignoring or not noticing the effect she'd had on the Weasley. "I would think we need to talk about what happened at the World Cup, if only to get it out of the way."

Hermione's ugly habit of being inconveniently right was rearing it's ugly head again, and the silence that fell after she mentioned the world cup indicated that none of them were particularly happy about that, regardless of how right she was.

Naturally, Ron's lack of tact stopped the silence from getting _too_ uncomfortable.

"We got our bloody arses kicked." He said flatly.

"Ronald! Watch you-"

"He's right though, Hermione, putting the language aside." Harry jumped in. If you let Hermione build up a head of steam, she took quite some stopping - sometimes moving the conversation along was the best way of dealing with their passionate friend. "I spoke to Sirius about it not long ago. After everything we've faced - everything we've done-"

"You thought we should have stood a chance." Hermione finished, face set in a gentle frown. "Quite honestly, me too."

Ron looked unusually pensive. "I guess..." he started, trying to work out how to proceed. Ron generally took longer to weigh in on serious matters than either of them, but when he did, he often brought a perspective that neither Harry or Hermione had considered as the only one of their group raised as a wizard. "It's difficult if you weren't brought up with stories of what it was like with You-Know-Who and everything. They- the death eaters I mean - were just too much for most ordinary people. When they came for you, most people just thought it was over. I mean, you saw how everybody just ran even though there were only five of them. I think it's easy to forget that even without You-Know-Who, his death eaters were deadly enough. It was only really Dumbledore's lot that could fight them."

It was an interesting point. From the stories, and the fact he had always heard the Malfoys were death eaters and were now just seemingly normal, if rich, people, Harry had always assumed death eaters were just normal people in masks being awful.

"Sirius said the same sort of thing." Harry chimed in, remembering his Godfather's words. "The people that became death eaters, by the end of it, had spent a good ten years fighting Voldemort's war against Dumbledore and the Ministry. Thinking we had a chance was stupid."

"But we couldn't not try - Hermione's Dad-"

"I don't think Harry's saying that, Ron." Hermione chimed in, quietly.

Frustration was written across all of their faces. In the three years they had known each other, they all knew full well that none of them were the sort to stand by and do nothing in those kinds of situations. Harry had as strong a sense of justice as Hermione had ever seen, and Ron had his back through all of it. Hermione was somewhere between the two, equally willing to defend those that needed it, but also wholly loyal to her friends. They were all people who thrived on _doing_ \- seeing a problem and doing something to fix it. Now they were being confronted with a problem they hadn't been able to solve. They had been roundly thwarted, still alive by complete chance, rather than their own smarts or skill.

"I suppose that's what Defense is for at Hogwarts. Realistically, we were in a situation that even fully trained wizards would find difficult. Holding ourselves to the standard of adults is probably being unfair." It was a good point, and Ron looked somewhat appeased by Hermione's point, but she couldn't help but notice that Harry's countenance had darkened further.

"It's not good enough anymore, though." Harry started quietly, his mind racing to come to terms with the events and revelations of the summer. He had known before the World Cup that he had to improve because of what was on the horizon, but now he had an idea of what was coming. The first idea as to level he would have to reach magically to be able to realistically survive.

In all honestly, it was only the first milestone on the way to the level he had to get to - being able to compete with the rank and file death eaters. His real goal was so much farther that Harry couldn't even begin to imagine getting there.

"Sirius told me earlier this summer. I had been meaning to talk to you guys about it after the World Cup anyway but..." Harry trailed off, running his hand through his hair anxiously. "Dumbledore thinks Voldemort's close to coming back. That he might actually manage it very soon. Sirius says he's started gathering his old allies to get ready for the next war, and that some of Voldemort's allies are going back to him already." Emerald green eyes fixed upon those of his friends in the dim hospital light, startling in their intensity.

They recognised the look from the most dangerous parts of their time at Hogwarts so far.

"We don't have the luxury of saying well, we're not adults yet so of course we lost anymore. Very soon, losing is going to mean we or somebody we care about not making it. Very soon, the war and death eaters won't be stories from before we were born anymore. It will be our reality." Harry let out a tired breath, before regarding his friends again.

"I guess what we really have to ask is are we really okay letting other people fight and die to keep us safe while we finish at Hogwarts? Or do we decide here and now to be ready? To commit to getting ourselves to the point that when it comes down to it, we can keep each other and whoever else we want to protect safe from what's coming?"

A heavy silence hung in the air, weighing on each of them as they thought about Harry's words, despite already knowing what their answer would be.

Fight or flight? For them, it was never really going to be a choice. They had, and always would, fight together.

* * *

The three of them never did vocalise a consensus. Nonetheless, their final two nights at St. Mungo's were spent plotting for the coming year at Hogwarts. Hermione took the lead, planning out areas of study for them to focus on in order to be prepared, and Harry gave her the notes he had already made based on his extra-curricular summer reading to kick start their preparations. They all agreed a solid grounding in practical defensive magic was their first port of call, and Hermione vowed to make a start on learning all she could about the tactics and strategies used in the First War in order to be as prepared as possible.

It was, in reality, a baby step forward; but Harry already felt a pressure lifted from him as his friends took to applying themselves to a problem he had been shouldering alone for several weeks. Hermione had already found ways to streamline and prioritise his own reading, and several new angles on what he had already covered. Ron on the other hand, had several ideas for places they could practice, and offered to tutor Hermione in riding a broom - arguing that they would all need to be fairly competent as a broom was too useful of an escape option to pass up on.

All three could feel their excitement grow in a very familiar way as they made plans and preparations, and it was quite easy to see why it was an exhausted but excited trio that were returning to The Burrow on a pleasantly crisp Tuesday morning, rather than well rested and ready to return to normal life.

"Oh Ron, it is _so_ good to see you up, about and at home!" Molly Weasley was a touch louder than any of them were ready for, and Harry couldn't suppress a slight wince as she rushed her youngest son before gathering him into a tight hug. Mr Weasley, who had escorted them back grinned at Ron's embarrassment but developed a full blown chuckle as his wife turned to Hermione and Harry and did the same to both of them at once. "I was so worried - for all three of you."

The hug was more gentle and her voice lowered, and Harry felt a familiar warmth spread through him that he could only really associate with Mrs Weasley. He knew that he more subdued show of affection was on his behalf. The first time she had hugged him, it had been with all the gusto that she had for any of her children. Harry, unused to the physical contact had gone rigid, panicking slightly.

Molly had never said anything, but had simply eased off until he was comfortable, understanding without words that he enjoyed the motherly attention, but couldn't handle the intense physical contact - even now.

All too quickly, Molly released them and took a step back, allowing the smells that often graced Mrs Weasley's kitchen to assault their senses for the first time. Bacon sizzled in the pan, a spatula charmed to push them around and turn them over when they needed. Toast was ready made and waiting on the kitchen table, with a hot chocolate made for all of the present Weasley children. Dishes and pans were being scrubbed in the background, and in the front room, Harry could spot a broom sweeping at some errant dust in front of one of the sofas.

The Burrow was truly a magical place to him - the only magical home he had ever been in; and quite frankly, he doubted any of the others held as much love and affection within their walls as this place did.

A few practiced jabs of Mrs Weasley's wand and suddenly the table was laid, and bacon was levitating itself onto plates.

"No having to set the table on a welcome home breakfast, I think." She smiled back at them, before summoning an octave that it seemed only Molly Weasley could and bellowing a single word.

"Breakfast!"

Harry grinned as the Weasley hordes upstairs began to stir. He knew the Burrow would never be his - it never could fill the space left behind by what he had lost. He'd be damned though if it didn't just feel like _home._

* * *

"Harry, come short!" Harry leant forward and felt the Cleansweep Bill used to use accelerate towards Ron, who made to throw a straight pass at him. Fred made to intercept, but Ron's pass had been a dummy - he lobbed it instead, looping their battered quaffle over the twin straight into Harry's path. He caught it slightly behind him one-handed and all in one motion threw it with a slight outwards spin, completing the give and go with his best mate.

Ron was in clear, bearing down on goal from the right hand side - only George standing in his way, covering the centre. Ron made to shoot at the nearside, but instead reversing it across goal. Too obvious. George saw a second feint coming and managed to beat the quaffle away with an outstretched palm - straight into Fred's waiting hands. Ron was too far across, and Harry, too used to a seeker's role of not being directly in play hadn't re-positioned himself quickly enough to track Fred's movement and was now too far removed from play to defend in time.

Ron made it across to meet Fred, only for the twin to square it 20 yards to the other to shoot at an open hoop. Somehow, Ron nearly made it back, grazing his fingertips against the ball, but only managing to redirect it as far as the inside edge of the hoop, adding a neat sound effect to the twin's all to easily scored counter attack.

Harry palmed some sweat away from his forehead. They had been playing for hours, and he was about ready to call it quits. "Ginny! Swap in?" Even from the air he could see the youngest Weasley grin in response, and he returned to the slightly overgrown grass that made up the Weasley's makeshift Quidditch pitch to hand her the broom.

Ginny took to the air with a kick of a foot clad in ratty white muggle trainers, the force of her upward momentum causing a puff of dust to fly upwards, and Harry slumped to the floor where she had been, reaching for the drinks Mrs Weasley had left out for them.

"Ron keeps saying it in his letters, but man you really can fly." Bill Weasley spoke up from beside him, an easy grin on his face. The eldest of the Weasley's, Bill had struck Harry as being the most laid back out of all of them when he first met him. Charlie was mad on dragons to a scary degree, Percy had his thing with rules, Ron and Ginny were all about Quidditch. The twins were... Well, they were the twins.

Harry had heard Bill talk about curse breaking only once - Mrs Weasley didn't appreciate the direction those stories apparently tended to take - and sure enough, Bill got that glint in his eye, and the Weasley madness bubbled to the surface. Most of the time though, he was easy going and friendly - good for a joke, and more than good for keeping the piece between his siblings. Harry enjoyed the man's company greatly, the few times he had been in it.

"Absolute pants as a chaser though. Thank merlin Wood never attempted to make that disaster happen. They'd have never let you on a broom again."

"Does the same rule apply to girls Bill? Might explain why they don't let you near them." Harry shot back. _That_ was something that only Bill ever tended to draw from him. Ron and Hermione were his much loved best friends, but they could be awfully sensitive - and he'd have gotten a clobbering from any of the Dursley's if he'd tried that. In fact, the first time he slipped in front of Bill and shot back without realising he thought the older wizard would do just that.

Luckily, Bill just laughed, and banter became a part of their scant conversations.

"Even if my count was only at one, it's still one higher than you Potter. The way you and Ron go on, I'd wager that you're more interested in Draco Malfoy than girls."

"Bill that is just disgusting."

"Hey, whatever floats your boat. I've traveled Harry, I'm not one to judge what you get up to behind closed doors."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose trying to fend off unwanted mental images, and the definitely unwanted cackle of one Bilius Weasley.

"When do we manage to get rid of you, anyways?" Harry asked, trying to move the conversation swiftly on.

"Why? Trying to score some alone time with my little brother now?" Bill laughed again, and Harry just waited deadpan for him to actually answer the question. He had already learnt to keep quiet unless he had something good to fire back with. Finally, Bill recovered his sensibilities and answered the question. "I'm sticking around until tomorrow, when you guys head off to Hogwarts. Then, I'm off to Johannesburg on work."

"Anything interesting?"

Almost instinctively, Bill cast his eyes around for his mother. "Between you and me, the Goblins have dug up a former warlord's tomb heaving with dark magic. Undead, voodoo, the full works of assorted nasties. Interesting tidbit is, there is european ward work there, meaning interference from foreign wizards. I'm going in as the expert on the Norse and Celtic runes officially. Unofficially, I'm there for just about anything particularly nasty and to watch for signs of betrayal. Goblins don't trust the African curse-breakers, and aren't very good at reading people."

"Sounds pretty hairy." Harry answered back, absorbed in even the slightest bit of information about what Bill actually did.

"No Harry, sounds like _fun_."

Bloody Weasleys were all insane. No two ways about it.

Later that night saw Harry, all of the Weasleys besides Percy, who was 'busy' and Hermione around their family table, for a 'last supper' of sorts. The food had been fabulous, and Bill and Charlie had been dangling a 'surprise' at Hogwarts in front of those still attending all evening. It seemed that all of the adults were in on the joke, and only Harry had any apprehension at all about a 'surprise'.

It more than likely was as innocent as everyone seemed to think it was, but the idea of yet more secrets and unknowns at Hogwarts put him on edge. The stone, the Basilisk, Sirius - all had been kept quiet from him, and all of those things had come back to bite him in the arse in some way that could have been avoided if he had just known what was going on in the first place. Secrets it seemed, more than anything else, put people's lives in danger at school; and now there was another one, right when Voldemort was moving to get back to full power again.

Perhaps he was grasping at straws, but he thought it was just too much of a coincidence.

"Boys, perhaps it's time to let the matter of the school year lie." Mr Weasley injected himself into the conversation without any great show, but a pair of quizzical looks from Bill and Charlie aside, the 'surprise' was largely forgotten about as conversation went on further into the night. Later, during a conversation in the front room about the Chudley Cannon's prospects this season that Harry was largely tuning out, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. "Come and walk with me for a while, Harry."

The evening air was pleasantly crisp on his face, and the moonlight meant that the Weasley's garden felt reasonably well lit, once his eyes adjusted. It was a nice evening for night-time stroll, he just wasn't sure whether to be peturbed or not that Mr Weasley had asked for one.

"One of the benefits of bringing up several young boys at the same time, is that you start to pick up the warning signs of a fraying temper."

"I wasn't going to-" Harry rushed in to defend himself before the man had even made his point, but a hand on the shoulder and a gentle smile forestalled his protest.

"No, I daresay you weren't going to lose it. In fact, I would say your control is one of the main reasons my boys didn't realise their teasing was upsetting you. Weasley's traditionally have short tempers - gauging someone a bit more subtle is a struggle even for the older ones. Ron would have pitched a fit much earlier if something was bothering him."

"I wasn't upset, it's just-" Harry paused as he wondered exactly how to put what he was feeling into actual words. "I suppose it's just that people always seem to be keeping things from me. I'm not saying I should know everything, but a lot of the things people tell me I don't need to know end up being dangerous. I mean, the Sirius thing from last year was exactly that. If somebody had just told me the whole story, not just the part they thought I should know..." Mr Weasley looked a little abashed at that, but that wasn't what Harry was trying to do. "I know you were trying to do what was right, but not knowing was far worse." He sighed quietly, taking a moment to gaze upwards at the waning moon, luminescent above them.

"I know it's silly - I just can't help but think 'Oh God, what is it now' when Bill and Charlie talk about a surprise at Hogwarts. Even things that initially had nothing to do with me cause problems, like the whole incident with the Chamber. The whole school pinned it on me just because I'm a parselmouth..."

The father of seven looked pensive for a moment, joining Harry in mutual admiration of the moon.

"Vows of silence mean that none of us from the Ministry can talk about Hogwarts too much. Bill and Charlie are involved, but have the same vows. They can tease but give no information. What I _can_ tell you that the 'surprise' will be governed by a magically enforced age limit. As far as I can see, it _shouldn't_ affect you too much - besides being an enjoyable spectacle. What I can do, is offer some advice Harry. I'm not the most eloquent, and this should probably fall to someone else, but I'll do my best.

"Regarding your other problem - the way people perceive you. It's seems to me that you're not the sort to revel in your fame, admirably and understandably so. But are you so sure that trying to pretend that your not famous, that people aren't interested in your comings and goings is the best course of action?"

The question gave Harry pause. He had never considered it before. The Boy-Who-Lived hated the fact he was famous - he couldn't even remember the cause of it, and it had the inconvenient side effect of making him an orphan. When people talked about him as a 'famous' person, they quite often forgot that last bit. Ignoring it seemed all that he could do.

"It seems to me, that people are going to talk and have their preconceived notions no matter how much you ignore it. What you have to understand Harry, is that the events that created your fame ended the darkest period in British wizarding history for quite some time. People were so grateful, so happy - did you know people toasted your name on that very night. Rightly or wrongly, the legend of Harry Potter began before you could even talk. People wrote stories, told tales. Merlin, I even told a few to Ron as he was growing up." Mr Weasley finished with a chuckle, though Harry was more embarrassed than anything else. For a boy raised in a cupboard under the stairs, just how famous he actually was in the wizarding world was outlandish.

"So what can I do?" He asked, genuinely stumped by the scale of the problem.

"Be more than the legend to them Harry. Show them just who the real you is. Make friends, talk to people - make the most of the fact that Hogwarts is the children of most of wizarding Britain all in one place. Ron forgot all about the story version of Harry Potter the very day he met you in favour of the real thing - I rather think most of us lucky enough to know you did the same, actually. The more friends you have, the more people willing to back you and believe you if anything happens. Besides having more friends never hurt."

It seemed insane to him that the problems he had with the rumour mill could be fixed so simply, but it made sense in a way. Harry recalled Hannah Abbott defending him in the library when others were spreading rumours, and wondered just how much better that would have gone if they had actually been friends. Or even if he'd had other friends in her house.

What if he had friends in _all_ the houses? Just what difference would that make?

Of course , Harry figured that most Slytherins would rather eat Hippogriff droppings than be seen as friendly with him, but Malfoy's cronies aside, he certainly had no issues with making friends with people in the house that he was so very nearly sorted into.

Either way, it definitely bore more thought and it wasn't like making an effort to make more friends would do any harm, really.

What did he have to lose?

* * *

The following morning brought a frenzy of Weasley activity, as the large family battled to get organised, but before long Harry found himself in a compartment with his two best friends. Mr and Mrs Weasley were at the window waving them off, as the scarlet locomotive tumbled its way out of the magically concealed platform in London. A letter from Sirius was tucked securely into his pocket, to be read later when he could get a bit of privacy. Luckily, Ron and Hermione were usually pretty good at respecting his desire to read Sirius' missives in private, regardless of their eagerness to know how he was getting on.

He couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement and anticipation - the same one he'd gotten every year since the first. The Burrow felt homely, but Hogwarts was _his_ home. It was most definitely the place where he belonged more than anywhere else on the planet; and no matter how the people treated him - no matter the dangers he faced whilst he was there - he loved it more than anything.

Voldemort and whatever 'surprise' was waiting for them weighed on his mind of course, but knowing he had the support of Ron and Hermione alongside him like they always had been, and Lupin and Sirius helping from the background like no adult ever had gave him confidence.

His gut told him this year something monumental was afoot. He didn't know what, or when, or even who would start it. But he did know they would be ready for it when it came. _They_ would be ready for it.


	5. The Triwizard Tournament

**!**

* * *

 _Stand Tall - The Rise of Harry Potter_

 _Chapter V_

 _The Triwizard Tournament_

* * *

English countryside rolled gently by as it always did aboard the rattling steam train that carted students to and from Hogwarts every year. Sheep littered the landscape of man made patchwork fields - little square parcels of land that Ron supposed kept the country fed - even the wizarding portion of it. You couldn't conjure food after all, and Ron knew better than most - a wizard's gotta eat.

Hermione had gone off on one of her now regular walks through the carriages of the Hogwarts express, catching up with the comings and goings of the people they had classes with year after year. Harry on the other hand, was sleeping fitfully against the window. He was a light sleeper and didn't seem to ever get enough of it, so Ron was being extra careful not to wake him from it.

This however, had the disadvantage of leaving Ron Weasley alone with his thoughts, and that was somewhere he tried to never be if he could help it.

Hermione often accused him of not thinking, which was incredibly unfair. Ron was more than willing to put his mind to a problem, and could quite often fashion a unique and inventive solution that neither of his two friends had considered themselves. Of course, he knew full well that his incredibly intelligent friend didn't really mean that kind of thinking at all. She was talking about the other, more introspective kind of thinking, and it was that kind of thinking that Ron abhorred.

In all honesty, Ron had never been all that happy with himself. Ever since he was old enough to really realise it, he had been a victim of sorts of his larger than life family. Bill and Charlie were fantastic older brothers. Bill was cool and supportive, always having his younger siblings back and ready with some kind of advice or cheering up. Charlie, on the other hand, was funny and talented. Great at quidditch and amazing with people, Charlie charmed the pants off of anybody he came across, and had been nearly unbeatable as a seeker. Both had gone on to have really good careers after Hogwarts, and with a little more experience and time, would both make a packet financially as they advanced in their professions.

Percy was the brains. A stickler for the rules, he had been a prefect and head boy, and his grades were never less than perfect. He had only left school last year, and he already had a job in the Ministry - Mum and Dad couldn't be prouder. The was true of Fred and George of course, though Mum would never admit it out loud. The twins were equally clever in their own way, and were also incredibly talented beaters. The very fact they could have matched Percy's grades was a Weasley family secret that they all all knew but never said out loud, and the only reason they didn't match him was because they quite simply had made the decision not to.

They already had grand plans of some sort to open their own joke shop, and though once again their mother would never say it out loud, each and every one of them had no doubt the twin would pull it off in the end. Ginny was younger than him, yet still seemed to outshine him by virtue of her very existence. She was the first female Weasley to be born in Merlin knows how long, and there wasn't a single person in their family who didn't bang on about it. Added to that she was already showing herself to be a dab hand at charms and defense - more so than he had ever been a dab hand at _anything_ , and the youngest Weasley male couldn't deny the pattern.

Quite simply, he was the weakest Weasley link. Never outstanding at anything, never showing any talents off. Ron Weasley was just average. He knew that really, that should be fine - plenty of people were average, it was why people called it 'average' after all. That didn't matter to him though, it still burned him, gnawing away at him whenever he let it - whenever he thought, really. He hated feeling substandard, feeling weak. He hated the notion that he would never be known for being anything other than a brother to one of the successful Weasleys.

And then of course, he went and became best friends with Hermione Granger and Harry bloody Potter.

Hermione was destined for greatness - how could she not be? Superhuman intellect, could pull off just about any spell a Professor threw at her after a few tries. The girl was born to do magic, and worked her socks off to boot. Then there was Harry. Mostly the raven haired boy was his dorky mate who sucked at chess, was a great laugh at times and ate treacle tart like Ron ate everything else. More importantly however, Ron knew damn well and good that Harry Potter was the one person not a Weasley that would go to bat for him if he asked, no hesitation and no questions asked.

The trouble was, Harry was special too. Not because of that daft Boy-Who-Lived bollocks - Ron had parted with the illusions to do with his mate and that fairy tale pretty much the first time he had met a confused and clueless eleven year old at the Platform. No, _Harry_ was special. Not because of a scar or some crap that happened when he was one, but because of who he was. Ron had realised very quickly that Harry just didn't let things go - not when he thought they weren't right. Not when Buckbeak was due to be executed thanks to that prat Malfoy, not when some girl they didn't really like was alone with a troll because of some berk's thoughtless words.

Harry felt like he _had_ to do something about it, and he made the people around him feel like it to. Ron didn't really feel like Hermione had been his problem until he'd thought about it later, but he still found himself using one of the three spells he knew at the time to try and stop the thing from flattening her and Harry. Hermione would never in a million years have gone after the stone after being told to leave well enough alone without Harry there.

He saw a thing that he thought needed to be done, and Ron'd be damned if he'd ever seen Harry not do something he'd actually put his mind to. His best friend just had the aura of the remarkable about him, this constant sensation of something out of the ordinary about to happen, and Ron was lucky enough to be along for the ride.

Lucky, that was a pretty important word when it came to being Ron Weasley. He was blessed to have the family and friends he had, lucky that they loved him just as much as he loved them.

Which was why he never hated who he was more than when he felt a now familiar simmering jealousy and resentment whenever Harry did something remarkable. He loved his best mate, though he'd never say it out loud. He would give his life to save Harry's if it ever came to it - a scenario far more likely than a guy might think, given the situations they tended to get themselves into - which made the fact that he felt those things around his best mate even worse. But he couldn't help it - deep down, Ron knew he wanted nothing more than to stand out, have someone recognise him for something _he_ did and no one else.

That could never happen though. He'd always be Bill Weasley's younger brother, or Harry Potter's best friend and he would go on hating it, and to an extent himself.

The compartment door slid open, revealing a living breathing smirk, and Ron was greeted with quite possibly the worst person to come across after such a depressing line of thought.

Draco bloody Malfoy.

With him of course was his usual entourage of Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle, plus two Slytherin girls he knew by name but had never spoken to, Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davis. Ron didn't even need to take his eyes away from the new group to know Harry was now wide awake - the slightest disturbance got him wide awake pretty quickly.

Malfoy's gaze swept across the pair of them, in an imitation of what Ron supposed the berk thought was imperious. A smirk, ever so slight teased at the corner of his mouth.

"Terribly sorry ladies - I hadn't meant to spoil your day." Malfoy had always possessed the truest knack for getting on Ron's nerves and Harry knew it. The voice, the way he turned up his nose around them letting them know just how beneath him everyone else was. Harry really could understand why Ron tended to lose his temper when it came to the blond haired git.

"Get stuffed Malfoy, surely you've got something better be doing? I know we do." The smirk grew, and Harry already knew that he'd lost the upper hand in this exchange, and his chances of diffusing things before Malfoy said something that'd really get under Ron's skin had just disappeared.

"Potter, are you simple? I just apologised to my friends here for ruining their day with this. I was hoping not to have to tarnish my day with the likes of you." He turned to his expanded entourage. "Let's not waste any more of our time, shall we?" Malfoy walked out without waiting for a response, Crabbe and Goyle hot on his heels as always. Daphne Greengrass followed swiftly after with Davis, but not before giving him a hard stare that Harry couldn't quite figure out. Pansy remained only a moment longer, also looking at Harry. She had an air of being confused about her, almost as if she was existing in a moment in time behind the rest of them. Harry was about to say something - oddly compelled to ask if the girl was okay, before she hurried out, a little faster than was comfortable.

Harry could hear Ron seething next to him, the usual Malfoy related expletives that were saved for occasions when Hermione was absent streaming out of his mouth. The furious red head probably hadn't noticed the odd shift in atmosphere with the Slytherin. Up until now, Draco Malfoy had been a weird mix of self importance and insecurity. So proud to be who he was, and yet so afraid to not live up to that mantle. For a time in first year, Harry had harbored fantasies of discovering that the Potters were a powerful and influential wizarding family that trumped the Malfoys, and of being able to lord it over the blond. Hermione had taken it upon herself to relieve him of that fantasy however, discovering that the Malfoys were actually an incredibly powerful family. They were model Slytherins - incredible business acumen, combined with the cunning required to manipulate and use the wizarding government and elite to their advantage.

The Potters were wealthy but not even close to being on the same level. His grandfather, Fleamont Potter had made the family their wealth selling hair potions, and his father had used a considerable amount of that in the war effort before Harry's birth. Only twice had a member of his family even sat on the Wizengamot, so in both wealth and political influence the Malfoy's beat out his own family by miles. The fantasy was indulgent and childish, and in hindsight, the weight of being a Malfoy must weigh pretty heavily on Draco's shoulders. It didn't excuse his behaviour, but alongside his father's abhorrent views it went some way towards explaining it.

This weight had always shown in how he and Malfoy had interacted. Ever since that first refusal of friendship, Malfoy had always viewed him as a threat because of his fame, somebody to knock down a peg to make himself look superior. To prove he was worthy of being a Malfoy - Hermione had said that he needed to do it because inside, he doubted that he was, and that explanation resonated with Harry.

This time was difference. He was antagonistic, sure, but not desperate for a win. This was had been an amusing distraction for him, not the main event. There was a confidence about him that had never been there before and Harry couldn't help but wonder where the change had come from.

Before long, Ron's anger had lost enough of his edge that the arrival of the snack trolley was able to distract him fully, and the pair could settle into easy conversation, before Hermione returned to their carriage and joined the conversation.

Harry couldn't help the excited smile that had begun to creep onto his face as the train drew closer and closer to it's destination. Hogwarts had a different edge now. Voldemort was returning, and Harry would have to prepare. Dark things were coming, and too many dark things had already happened there for the ancient castle not to be tainted slightly in his mind. Despite this though, Hogwarts was still his _home_. That battered old castle, with it's tricky staircases that did their utmost to confuse and disorientate you, it's towering parapets that reached endlessly into the brisk Scottish air - so filled with magic and mystery that Harry thought he could spend three lifetimes there and not discover all there was - it was where he belonged.

* * *

Stars filled the empty night sky, shimmering brightly against the endless black with a silvery effervescence. The moon lay full above it all, but cast no glow and did not illuminate the world below as it usually did because below the students of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry sat with a quiet buzz, all eyes on the set of first years stood at the back of the Great Hall waiting to be sorted.

"Look! It's my brother!" The excited voice of Colin Creevey reached him from several seats down and made Harry smile despite himself. If he was anything like his older brother, the newest Creevey would charm and aggravate Harry in equal measure, and oddly this year, he found himself okay with that. All around him, student milled around chatting and catching up with their friends, and Harry wondered how he had never noticed this before. Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell were at the Hufflepuff table, deep in conversation; whilst Fred and George had a good quarter of Ravenclaw's table in stitches. Taking another look, Harry realised that there was a good mix of other houses at their own table talking to people, and even some Slytherins had found their way over to the Ravenclaw table.

Mr Weasley's advice came to mind, and Harry couldn't help but feel a pang of regret as he watched all of these different reunions and interactions take place. How much had he missed out on in trying to blend in - how many potential friends had he lost because he didn't want to stand out any more than he already did? He suspected that in doing so, he had only stood out more regardless.

Still, he was lucky. He had time to make sure he fixed this particular mistake.

"Everything okay, Harry?"

It was Hermione, concern written across her face.

"Yeah." He answered, still a little distant. "I was thinking it might be nice to make a few more friends this year." Hermione looked taken aback for a second, before nodding enthusiastically.

"I think that's a wonderful idea, Harry." They both glanced towards Ron, but the redhead was deep in conversation with Dean Thomas, the three year old debate of football vs quidditch ignited once more. "Ron would agree... probably."

Harry couldn't help but laugh, but inside his confidence grew. Making new friends was all well and good, but he wouldn't even consider it if his current ones weren't there with him.

Soon enough, the first years had been sorted and had joined their house tables, and all of the students were eating there fill at the always glorious welcoming feast. Dennis Creevey had naturally been sorted into Gryffindor, and had nervously taken his place at their table alongside a new girl with straw like hair - Natalie McDonald.

"You're really rather lucky there is a feast at all you know." Came a rather pompous sounding voice out of literally nowhere, causing Harry to jerk violently in surprise. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Ron had spat out a mouthful of particularly delicious steak in shock. The voice belonged to one Nearly Headless Nick, the ethereal spectre that was somewhat of a mascot for Gryffindor house. He noticed that the new girl - Natalie - had gone sheet white, her fork shaking in her hand; but more than anything, Natalie was looking to see how _they_ reacted to the ghost's presence. Muggleborn, then.

"Oh, hi Nick - how was your summer?" He asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. He considered the ghost, oddly, as a friend despite the fact the partially beheaded man had scared the wits out of him quite on purpose.

"Delightful, thank you kindly. The halls of Hogwarts with no students in the dead of winter are wonderfully eerie. Some friends from the Headless Hunt joined me for the Yule festivities - it was positively haunting."

"What happened with the feast, Sir Nicholas?" Trust Hermione to keep the conversation on track.

"Ah yes!" The ghost exclaimed with an over dramatic wave of his translucent hand. Natalie was enjoying the spectacle now, giggling quietly at the formerly living man's antics. "Well, it was a similar story to most years if I'm quite honest. The poltergeist was complaining about his banning from the feast - quite understandable course of action from the headmaster, and the several before him in fact - in the kitchens. He might have a leg to stand on if he hadn't responded this year by tormenting the poor house-elves - and, of course, if he actually _had_ legs."

"Wait - Hogwarts has house-elves?" Hermione near enough shrieked, and both Ron and Harry shared a look where they mutually understood the coming danger. "But they're paid? And have holidays - and pensions?"

"Hermione my dear, house elves don't _want_ pensions." Sir Nick retorted with not a small amount of matter-of-factly disdain.

"But-"

"Hermione." Harry interrupted, keen to stop this becoming a full on argument. With a ghost. On the first day. "Why don't we look into it. Research house-elves some more, maybe head to the kitchens and talk to some of them - actually hear their side of the story?"

Hermione looked like she wanted to argue, and Harry quite understood. The idea of essentially a slave race doing all the menial jobs for the students and getting nothing in return made him uncomfortable as well. He was trying to remember though, that the wizarding world operated on a whole other system of logic and rules than the muggle one did. Jumping to conclusions wouldn't help them help the house-elves, even if they truly did need it. "Fine," she reluctantly agreed after a tense few moments. "But I'm not eating this food - it was made with _slave labour."_

 _"_ And what would refusing to eat their food accomplish, besides offending the people you're trying to help, Hermione. The Dursley's made me cook for them almost every night once I was old enough. I hated it, but it still hurt when one of them insulted what I'd done."

Bringing the Dursleys into things was an underhanded tactic, but it worked. Hermione continued to eat, reluctantly only at first.

Harry was just beginning to walk the line between full and painfully so, when Dumbledore stood serenely, and without him ever having to say a word, the hall fell silent within a few moments. He smiled softly, taking a moment to cast his eyes across the assembled students.

"Good evening to all. I hope as I, you are suitably stuffed and splendidly satisfied by tonight's wonderful feast. It has fallen on me to welcome most of you back to Hogwarts, and some of you for the very first time. Our esteemed caretaker Mr Filch has asked me to inform you that the list of items banned on the corridors has expanded to include screaming yo-yos and fanged frisbees. The full list is available in his office for anybody who wishes to peruse it, and I believe it now includes some four hundred and forty-seven items." Nobody in the room missed the twitch of amusement under the Headmaster's silvery beard.

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not be taking place at Hogwarts this year." Hushed whispers broke out across the Hall. Harry was aghast, and Fred and George Weasley were staring at each other, mouths opening and closing but apparently too appalled to actually speak. "This is due to an event that will be taking place this year at Hogwarts - it give me great pleasure to announce that Hogwarts will this year be hosting the Triwizard Tournament. It will be the first to have been held in over a century, and the students of Beaubaxtons and Durmstrang will be staying here during the year to also compete."

"You're JOKING!" Called Fred Weasley loudly, and nearly everyone laughed - including Professor Dumbledore.

"I am not Mr Weasley, though I did hear an excellent one over the summer involving a troll, a leprechaun and a hag that all go into a bar-" Professor McGonagall coughed loudly, and Dumbledore had the decency to appear a little abashed as he continued to explain the premise of the Triwizard Tournament. Apparently, the tournament was a tradition started some seven hundred years ago, where students of the three schools Dumbledore had mentioned competed in magical tasks of skill and daring - that just so happened to include differing levels of mortal danger. It was as Dumbledore mentioned that the tournament had been abandoned precisely because the death toll had gotten so high - including a year where _none_ of those competing survived - that Harry began to feel a familiar sinking feeling deep in his gut.

Even as Dumbledore talked about how, to prevent this, they were going to impose a magically enforced age restriction, Harry just couldn't shake the idea that this was somehow going to drag him in. He couldn't put a finger on it, but something inside him _knew_ that this would be the thing that he had to deal with this year, just as there had been something _every_ year he had been at Hogwarts.

Reassuringly, this was precisely the kind of thing he had been endeavoring to be ready for.

By and large, the feast continued on as it always did after Dumbledore's announcement, though Harry was considerably more withdrawn than he had been prior despite Angelina stopping by to have a quick chat about keeping up some kind of quidditch practice going for Gryffindor this year. Harry had agreed without really hearing what he was actually agreeing to.

Some ten minutes before the end, dessert had been interrupted by the arrival of a grizzled Mad-Eye Moody, apparently a former auror, and their new Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher. He had a gnarled old wooden leg with the twisted looking wood beautifully engraved; and most noticeably, a single beady black eye, and one large, round glass eye, electric blue and careening wildly around the room as he walked the the Head Table. Ron seemed to think the man was crazy, and Hermione was intimidated by his appearance, but as Ron spoke about the man's incredible record and reputation, Harry couldn't help but feel a tingle of excitement about attending his lessons.

Before long, the time for them to head to Gryffindor common room had come, and they followed the prefects excitedly to their home for the coming school year.

* * *

Across the years they had been at Hogwarts, Fred and George had seemingly perfected the art of the common room party. Merlin only knew how they had smuggled in this much butterbeer, and somehow the music seemed to straddle the line between loud enough for a party and loud enough to result in McGonagall breaking the whole thing up. Harry had a tendency to enjoy the atmosphere but mostly keep to himself, Ron and Hermione. He loved how happy everyone was and the relaxed atmosphere, but especially loved how people had more fun things to do than make a big deal out of him.

This year though, given his chat with Mr Weasley and what he'd noticed in the hall, was different. He had gotten settled in with Ron and Hermione, but soon made a beeline for Natalie McDonald, who had been shyly sitting by herself on the outskirts. It had been awkward going at first, the girl clearly incredibly nervous, but seeing as she didn't know the big deal around 'being Harry Potter' (his muggleborn guess had been correct) it was better than it could have been. As it turns out, she was just about as sweet as anybody Harry had ever met, but had never really had much in the way of friends. Apparently, she had realised she was 'different' when she had made friends with a ghost that had been haunting her school. She had realised she was magical however, when she had gotten so bored of cleaning her bedroom, she had started making it clean itself.

The last Potter could certainly relate to having trouble with friends, and as much as it made him feel uncomfortably like Malfoy, a group of first years whispering and pointing in his direction gave him an idea.

"Natalie," He started quietly. "Follow my lead." The girl was confused but didn't argue as he led her over to the group of first years. "Hey guys, I'm Harry Potter - welcome to Gryffindor." He introduced himself with a smile that was far easier looking than he actually felt. "Have you met my friend, Natalie?"

It was a little spooky, really, how much sway he could exert in that way. All it took was for him to mention that Natalie was his friend, and to them, she was almost as fascinating as 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' was. He managed to extract himself from the group fairly early, leaving Natalie to continue chatting animatedly to her year mates without him.

From that point on, Harry decided he would make it his personal goal to speak to as many people as he could at the party. Meet some people he didn't know that well or at all, and make sure he caught up properly with people he already knew. Gryffindor House wasn't the most adventurous way of really improving his network of friends, but it surely was the best place to make a start. Oddly, he found that the more he did it - the more he forced himself to start conversations with people - the easier he found it, even if he didn't really know that person. There were some awkward moments, sure, but he found that asking that person a question about themselves seemed to get past that quite nicely.

He realised, several hours in, that he had been having _fun._ Neville had a casual, easy going way about him that made him incredibly easy to talk to. He had apparently gotten permission from his Gran this summer to start work on the family greenhouse that had fallen into disrepair some time ago, and the passion he showed when talking about some of the strange plants he was working with could rival that of Ron regarding quidditch. He also discovered that Colin Creevey, as oddly cheerful as he was, had conquered his overt obsession with Harry Potter. More than that, the blond photographer had a wicked sense of humour, evidenced when he spiked Fred of all people's drink with a dissolved puking pastille.

Eventually though, the party began to wear on somewhat and Harry realised that it was time to get some air. Normally, Harry would invite one of Ron or Hermione with him, but both were caught up in their own conversations. So, Marauders Map and invisibility cloak to hand, Harry swung the portrait of the Fat Lady open, and took to the dark corridors of Hogwarts.

The castle at night was a magical place - far more than it was at any other time. Hallways dimly lit by candlelight, covered in suits of armour and moving portraits, seemed to writhe and shift as you looked down them. The sounds of ghosts and elves carried across the cold granite almost all the way through the castle. Uneven floors, easily navigated by daylight became treacherous, and the looming threat of turning a corner into something that could reveal your trespass to a Professor added an element of thrill and adrenaline that Harry couldn't help but live for.

Vivid emerald eyes shone in the candlelight as Harry made certain no one was nearby before he checked the map for Snape and Filch's position. The cantankerous Filch could be outwitted if you were clever enough on the fly and could avoid his pesky feline accomplice. Being cornered by Snape, on the other hand, meant almost certain doom, with or without his cloak.

It had been a wise decision. Snape was lurking two corridors across, on the path between Gryffindor common room and the kitchens. The crooked nosed git had positioned himself to catch Gryffindors exclusively, eschewing his normal patrols around all four houses. Bastard. Harry had been planning to start that way, pondering a night time visit with Dobby, his House-elf friend. Fortunately, something else piqued his interest. Luna Lovegood wandering the sixth floor, well away from the Ravenclaw common room. He didn't know the girl personally and couldn't picture what she looked like, but had heard some unfortunate stories about how she was treated by her house.

The idea that she had been forced to leave her own common room, true or not, caused indignation to flare in Harry; and without making a sound, he set off.

He'd never say it out loud, but he much preferred these excursions when he was alone. Driven by his own curiosity or desire, with nothing but the sound of his breathing and his heartbeat in his ear to keep him company in the crisp highlands air that penetrated even the magic of Hogwarts. He walked at a hurried pace, knowing now the patterns by which the stairs liked to change, picking a considered route through the castle. A quick check of the map told him that he had left Snape and Filch behind, only needing to worry about them now on his path back to the common room.

As he moved past the transfiguration classroom on the fourth floor, Sir Cadogan roused heartily from his painting on the floor, and for a heart stopping moment Harry thought he would be rumbled by the well meaning knight. But no - almost as soon as he leapt to his feet, his snoring continued standing up, leaning against his steed. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and carried on, putting out of his mind the ghostly cackles of the maniacal Peeves as he passed the fifth, and the loud crashes of whatever mischief he was preparing - that was one mystery he wanted no part of.

Finally, he arrived at the summit of the staircase leading to the seventh, and another brief glance at the map told him Luna was close, seemingly drifting through the halls at a snail's pace. He set off again, this time slower and more cautious - he didn't want to spook the girl after all, or make her think he was a professor approaching. Suddenly, he could hear her dull footsteps, and was painfully aware she was around the next corner. He made to turn it, but something held him back - a gut feeling, an instinct screamed at him to proceed with caution.

He poked his head round the corner and saw her. _Now_ he could place the face that went with the name. Dirty blonde hair, straggly and almost entirely down her back trailed behind her, as the girl's dirty feet padded down the hallway in almost a stagger. Harry thought to call out, but his voice caught in his throat. Now wasn't the time. She was in some sort of nightgown, white originally, but in this well-windowed corridor she seemed to glow with a haunting luminescent blue. She continued on her path, rounding the next corner, all the while running small hands across the nearside wall of the scant corridor.

Harry didn't know why - the girl was only a year younger than her - but Luna Lovegood looked so incredibly young in the light. Fragile. He followed her round the corner, as quietly as he could.

The next corridor was bare, bar one picture - something to do with dancing trolls - and Luna continued down it, eerily reminiscent of a puppet being moved on worn and tangled strings. Harry rounded the corner too, but hung back, not wanting to be heard by the girl until she rounded the next corner.

Only, she didn't. She turned on her heels, spinning round with a sharpness that had Harry thinking he had been caught, and continued ambling in the direction she had come from. For the first time, Harry got a good look at the girl's face. Oddly the first thing he noticed was a smudge of dirt on her left cheek, especially odd considering just adjacent were eyes that were a spectacular silvery blue. Harry might have been struck by them, had worry not gripped him at the sight of them. These eyes gazed into the distance, completely devoid of focus and thought as she paced the corridor. Her mouth was set in a distant smile, utterly detached from the rest of her. Three times she paced, until Harry head a slight knock behind him. He turned slightly to face it, only to be greeted with a suspicious Mrs Norris prowling from the direction he had come from.

He cursed. Staying still meant doom, and for Luna too-

Luna was gone.

She was not around the next corner, nor in any of the adjacent corridors. Before returning to the common room, Harry also checked the map, only to find that Luna was nowhere to be seen on that either.

Sleep came with great difficulty that night.


	6. Unforgivable

**!**

* * *

 _Stand Tall - The Rise of Harry Potter_

 _Chapter VI_

 _Unforgivable_

* * *

Golden liquid oozed temptingly over the perfectly cooked pancake, magically kept at just the right temperature - all thanks to the elves, Hermione made sure to remind them but mercifully, ate them anyway. The hubbub surrounding the first breakfast back at Hogwarts was subdued and Harry realised that most of the other common rooms must have held similar festivities to his own. The larger part of the cohort were as utterly engrossed in their breakfast as Ron was - even Harry was eating steadily, despite how distracted he felt.

His eyes found their way to the back of Luna Lovegood's head once more, and he couldn't help the frown of consternation that found its way to his face. Something about the girl last night felt deeply _wrong_ to him. Unsettling, despite the fact that he couldn't really pinpoint why. Of course, the girl disappearing was a mystery in and of itself, but that kind of thing came part and parcel with exploring Hogwart's famed corridors by night - it was part of the reason Harry loved it so much.

No, there was more to Luna Lovegood than just her vanishing act - he was certain of it.

"Harry, is something the matter?" Hermione queried from across the table, clearly worried. Harry appreciated the thought, and nearly told her what he had seen, but for some reason held himself back. On the surface of things, it was the perfect thing to ask for Hermione's help with - deny it she might, but the girl loved a good mystery just as much as he did. Something about that idea however, didn't sit right with him.

"Not at all." He said, pushing a smile onto his face to reassure his friend. "Looking forward to defence first thing?" He asked, moving the conversation on quickly. Ron picked then to interject.

"Mad-eye Moody's supposed to be nuts." He said idly, dishing himself several more rashers of bacon - the idea appealed to Harry and he did the same. "But Dad always said that in the last war - no-one caught more death eaters than he did. He's supposed to be incredible at defence. Hell of a lot better than Lockhart I'd say." His face pinched strangely when he said Lockhart's name, as though he was tasting something incredibly sour.

"As long as he prepares us well enough for our OWLS next year - among other things - I'll be happy." Hermione added, fixing the boys with a significant look when she mentioned _other_ things. Harry resisted the reflex to nervously put a hand against his unusually quiet scar, expecting pain to come just from referencing the dark wizard. Ron had stopped chewing his bacon. They all knew how seriously they needed to take Defense Against the Dark Arts this year.

"Shall we meet tonight, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"I have a place and a plan ready." She replied briskly, nodding. "It's as good a night as any."

Harry nodded grimly, catching Luna drifting out of the Great Hall in the corner of his eye. Her entire countenance by day was different to how it been the prior night. She still held a dream-like quality to her expression, but now it was lucid, like she was actually aware of what was going on around her. He noticed that, once more, she didn't have shoes and he felt his eyes narrow defensively on her behalf.

Impulse drove him as he stood, eyes focused in on Kevin Entwhistle - the only Ravenclaw he knew even vaguely.

"Harry?" Hermione queried, startled by his sudden movement.

"I'll be back in a moment, Hermione." He was too short for the girl to take that as casually as he really wanted, but he would deal with whatever inquisition she would begin when it came to it. For now, he was allowing an ever building anger drive his actions perhaps a little too much.

"Kevin." The sandy-haired boy turned sharply, surprised by the briskness of Harry's tone, and the fact that Harry Potter was actually speaking to somebody not in Gryffindor. "A word please - outside." They had the whole of Ravenclaw's attention now, but Harry paid it no mind. Kevin blinked owlishly, but nodded his assent and followed him regardless out of the main doors, and rounded a corner for added privacy.

"What's the problem, Potter?" Kevin asked, the walk obviously giving him a chance to adjust to the situation, and apparently a little put off by Harry's tone.

"Nothing with you, as far as I'm aware." Harry started, trying to make sure he didn't get the boy's back up, despite his own feelings. "Luna Lovegood - what's her story?" There was that owlish blink again, the conversation veering wildly away from Kevin's expectations once more.

"Err- I don't really know her to be honest. People think she's a little weird I suppose, but being a muggleborn, she's about as strange as your average wizard to be perfectly honest."

"And the lack of shoes today?" He pressed, fairly confident now that Kevin at least, was not involved in what he feared was going on.

"Ah." The boy responded. He may not be involved - but he was aware of something going on. Kevin looked supremely uncomfortable now, and Harry guessed that he would rather be anywhere else talking about any _thing_ else. "I don't know any names but there's a selection of girls in the house across a few year groups that don't think she belongs in her house - that she isn't... _conventionally_ academic enough." He sighed, looking anywhere else besides directly at Harry. "From what I can tell, they take her things and hide them, write mean stuff on her homework. The whole muggle 'bully' stereotype."

Harry's entire demeanor was threatening now, tense, as though ready to lash out. Kevin knew nothing about Harry Potter really - he was quiet, a bit stand-offish. Always seemed to be involved but never directly the cause of trouble. Well, now Kevin knew something for certain. The-Boy-Who-Lived _really_ didn't like bullies.

"No-one's done anything?" He ground out, and Kevin quickly shook his head.

"She won't accept any help - just says a whole bunch of weird stuff about narbles or something." He paused, as the girl in question left the hall, several books in hand heading towards the library, before adding. "Cho Chang - the year above us - went to Flitwick about it in Luna's first year. Luna denied it was even going on. None of us really know what to do about it, to be honest."

Harry fumed at the lack of a resolution, but knew full well what it was like to be in Luna's, well, shoes. Everything he found out about the girl added another layer of mystery to the whole affair, and the fact that he hated what was happening her but could do nothing about it was really not helping calm his frustration.

"Are you going to try and find out who's doing it?" Kevin asked, and Harry's head jerked towards Kevin in surprise. "It's just..." Kevin paused, suddenly unsure of himself under the fresh scrutiny. "It seems to me that whenever something major is happening, you seem to play a part in sorting it out. No-one knows exactly what happened in second year - but everyone knows it was you who rescued Weasley when she went missing. Plus there's that whole business in first year with Professor Quirrell... I dunno, I just thought you of all people would be able to help her." To be truthful, Kevin hadn't thought this at all as they started this conversation. Seeing his reaction to Luna's treatment - indignation and anger on behalf of someone else like that couldn't be faked. Harry bloody Potter was stood here making sure a girl he had never met from a different house was okay, and was beyond angry that he had found out she wasn't.

On this evidence - and good Ravenclaws prided themselves on thinking based upon evidence - Harry Potter was good people. Even with this small amount of proof, Kevin was more inclined to believe some of the more favorable versions of the stories regarding Harry Potter's time at Hogwarts.

"I'll - I'll try, Kevin. If Luna asks me to stop, I'll have to respect her wishes, but at the same time - I really do hate bullies." Just the word brought about images in Harry's mind of his fat pig of a cousin and the particularly niche sport 'Harry Hunting'.

"Thank you - I really mean it. Trying is more that most of Ravenclaw has done for one of our own - myself included." Harry nodded somberly in response.

"Thanks for the info, Kevin. I'll do what I can."

Harry Potter walked away, back into the castle itself to prepare for his first period. Kevin Entwhistle returned to Ravenclaw table, bringing fresh evidence as to the nature of Harry James Potter.

* * *

Mad-Eye Moody's first lesson as Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor was, well, _mad_.

Quite frankly, Harry didn't think he would encounter one of the Unforgivables until Voldemort's return, where Harry would have to learn to defend himself from them for real. Moody proved him horrifically wrong, as he took the class on a borderline sickening tour of the three taboo curses as seen through the eyes of an arachnid. The spider suffered through the imperious curse - designed to control a person; the torture curse, Cruciatus; and finally, the one that Harry often saw when he dreamed of his mother - the sickly green killing curse.

The class were still recovering from seeing the spider draw it's final breath, when Moody announced his special dispensation to perform the curses extended to upon the children themselves. One by one they were put under the Imperious Curse by Moody and were made to do things that resulted in varying degrees of humiliation. Until of course, they got to Harry. Harry heard Moody's voice, just as everybody had been describing. He felt the calming sensation, putting him at ease and forcing him to lower his guard. He even felt the almost irresistible urge to do exactly as he was being instructed.

Except Harry _could_ resist. It took some effort, but Harry found he was able to completely refuse to do what Moody wanted. The second time the ex auror tried, it took a little less work - the third, was easy. Moody gave him a look that Harry couldn't read, before patting him firmly on the back and awarding him twenty points for resisting his curse.

As they left for a free period, Harry noticed Moody keep Neville back. The man had obviously noticed the same thing the Harry himself had - Neville's intense discomfort - moreso than any of them - during the demonstration of the Cruciatus Curse. Thinking quickly, Harry told Ron and Hermione that he would meet them later as he too wanted to have a word with Moody about his scar. The other two, understanding of the sensitivity of the topic, left him to it and Harry was free to wait for Neville. He wanted to keep this conversation as private as possible.

Before long, the messy haired Longbottom emerged from Moody's room, clutching a book and looking incredibly flustered.

"Everything okay, Nev?" Harry asked easily, as Neville took on a look akin to a rabbit gazing at the car hurtling towards it.

"I- Professor Moody wanted to talk to me about my parents, that's all - he knew them when they were still-" Neville stopped, suddenly looking morose. "He knew them." He finished glumly.

Harry put a hand on Neville's shoulder, but said nothing. Harry knew better than most that Neville wouldn't appreciate being pushed right now. A few moments passed, and Harry was proven right to wait.

"It still seems weird to me that I talk about them in the past tense when they're not actually gone." Neville said, awkwardly slouched over, his entire body downcast. Harry tried not to look too surprised - he had no idea that Neville's parents were still alive. He had always just assumed he and Neville were in the same boat. "It's just that the bits that are important _are._ Tortured away by that- that curse."

Harry found that his mouth dried up as he tried to imagine himself in Neville's shoes. Parents not dead, but not really alive either. He didn't know the details really, but Harry supposed they must be at a wizarding equivalent of a mental institution. Lockhart had supposedly ended up in the long term spell damage ward at St Mungos, so perhaps they were there. Did they even recognise Neville? Just how far gone were they? At least Harry had no sliver of hope to cling on to that his parents would be back one day. No shadow constantly just over his shoulder.

Neville Longbottom might just be a stronger person than any of them.

"Dad was an auror you know - apparently he was amazing to watch with a wand. Mum too, though Gran talks about her much less." Neville looked a strange combination of wistful and embarrassed as he spoke about his parents, and Harry wondered if he was the first person his age he had spoken to about this. "I'm using Dad's wand now - I'm, erm, not really following his example with it though."

Harry couldn't stand it any longer. He spoke finally, before Neville could bring himself down even more. "Everyone's different though, Neville. You're Dad might have been good at certain things - but so are you. I've never known Professor Sprout to be as excited to have someone in her class as she is you - you're a natural." Harry paused as Neville blushed faintly, before carrying on. "That said, Me, Ron and Hermione are starting a little Defense Against the Dark Arts practice group. It was going to be just the three of us - you want in?" Hope bloomed in Neville's eyes, and Harry could spot the moment he quashed it.

"I couldn't, I wouldn't want to impose."

"If you would be imposing, I wouldn't have invited you. It's just going to be some friends practicing some spells and getting better together. You're my friend Neville, so you'll fit in just fine." Harry said with some finality.

For a few moments, Neville didn't look like he knew how to respond, but eventually he smiled softly. "I think I'd like that Harry. Thanks."

* * *

 _Ardentus Valdi._ Nasty piece of work really, depending on the intent you cast it with. It created sores on a person's body - all over - that burned deeply. It could be incredibly painful, or just very sore and irritating but either way it was borderline dark magic. Harry noted it down out of _Noland's Compendium of Offensive Magicks_ anyway, wand movement, description and counter curse. It wasn't the most useful in a fight - the wand movement was a touch too finicky, and casting it with any degree of control or precision was harder than other spells that were equally effective at distracting opponents or creating openings to attack. Really, it was more of a vindictive spell for when you're catching somebody off guard.

It was however obscure and uncommon enough that if he _could_ cast it, his opponent would likely not be able to perform the counter curse.

He cast an eye upwards, making eye contact with the hawk-like Madame Pince. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously but did nothing, though refused to look away. Harry was using a rather expensive and valuable tome for his research, and Pince was ensuring he looked after it _properly_. To roll his eyes was to invite trouble, but he was sorely tempted anyway.

Pince's eyes flashed suddenly in a different direction and found a new target, and Harry was spared from resisting his temptation any longer. Blaise Zabini was the new victim, a lanky Slytherin with a dark complexion who Harry had heard speak maybe three words in total. Ever. He too, had a well aged, presumably unspeakably valuable volume to hand, and was studying it intently. He most likely had felt Pince's gaze upon him, and was doing a phenomenal job of ignoring it; studiously carrying on his study alone.

Harry stood and started walking, taking his scribbled notes and copy of _Noland's_ with him, before he had even really realised what he was about to do.

"Zabini."

"Potter." The git hadn't even looked up.

"Mind if I sit here?" He asked, gesturing idly at the empty second seat at Zabini's table.

Now he looked. Calculating grey eyes met Harry's own, and for a minute they were locked there, as Zabini's gears turned. "Why?"

"Well, we were both working alone, maybe we could combine our minds and get things done a little quicker." Zabini wasn't really one of Malfoy's crowd depsite him being with that group on the train, and passed on the opportunity to throw an insult - a good sign.

"I'm working on Ancient Runes." The boy said shortly. The point was clear - I'm working on something that you couldn't help me with.

"I've always been curious," Harry pursued slowly. He wasn't exactly sure why he was trying quite so hard to make this work. When Mr Weasley had suggested to make more friends, Harry knew full well he hadn't meant he needed to try and make them in Slytherin. "Would you possibly be able to get me started enough to self study?"

"Ask Granger."

"Are you insane, Zabini? You have heard Hermione talk about magic, right? I wanted a few pointers and a nudge in the right direction - not to be slowly suffocated under an evergrowing pile of Runes textbooks."

Blaise's mouth tweaked at the corners despite his cool facade. "Sit, Potter." Harry sat with a grin, and no sooner had he gotten his things placed and looked up than he was met by calculated smirk - something akin to a spider who has just caught a fly in his intricate webbing. "I hear you're not bad at defense, despite the atrocious instruction at this school. Quid pro quo, Potter."

Harry couldn't help but laugh out loud in the deathly silent library, disrupting several groups of students working, and enraging the librarian. Zabini had known what he wanted out of him, even as he was letting Harry persuade Blaise to allow him to sit on the same table. Cliche didn't even _begin_ to cover just how Slytherin that had been.

Still, Harry couldn't quite help the fact that, as much as the 'Ron' side of him didn't want to admit it, Harry was certain that he and Blaise could be friends somewhere down the line.

Obviously, Harry agreed to help Blaise with whatever problems he was having with defense as best he could. In return, Blaise left the table briefly, returning with several books.

"Ancient Runes as a subject is both fairly simple, and incredibly dry. The school curriculum until we complete our OWLs is almost entirely based around translating ancient runic languages, and learning the magical properties of the most basic. If you're looking to take the class, _Spellman's Syllabary_ and _Advanced Runes_ cover most of what you'll need to catch up." Blaise pushed the books at him, and Harry noted that he already owned _Advanced Runes_ courtesy of Remus. Blaise seemed to hesitate before sliding another set of books his way. "However, I assume some in your position would have more of an _extra-curricular_ interest in the subject."

 _Combat Warding: A Compendium, Thieves of the North - The Protections of the Vikingr_ and a particularly worn copy of a book called _Golinard's Field Cursebreaking Manual_ compiled by a wizard referred to only as J'bern; were now sat in front of him, and harry raised an eyebrow at Blaise questioningly.

"My position?"

Blaise rolled his eyes - the actual motion was minute, but the sarcasm still hung heavy in the air between them. "My mother has warned me that the winds are changing once more in the wizarding world, and you are pretty intent on getting yourself killed with or without the Dark Lord's help."

That was probably a fair point from a Slytherin point of view. Harry would never be able to operate on a favour for a favour basis - no matter how dangerous the thing he was doing was. He didn't want to concede the point however, so simply changed the subject.

"What was it you were needing in defense then?"

"My knowledge of the theory is more than sufficient. My spellcasting however, is bordering on the embarrassing. I'm hoping that this agreement will go some way towards rectifying that."

Harry frowned in thought. "I have a few ideas, but we'll need to meet, and I'll take it you don't fancy spending time learning with Ron or Hermione, so my first suggestion is immediately off the cards. Pick a time and a place Zabini, and I'll see what I can do to help you out - fair's fair and everything."

"Fine. Study the first paragraph of Norse Runes in _Advanced Runes_ \- be comfortable translating at least six or seven by then. We'll see how you cope with anything else after that." Harry just looked confused. "You really thought that I was going to make you work on my spellcasting with me in exchange for some books that Pince could have recommended to you? I'm a Slytherin, not a bastard Potter - see you at our first meeting."

Harry hadn't even noticed Blaise gathering his things, but he had, and was halfway across the room before Harry could even formulate a response. Suppressing a smirk, Harry started packing up his things as well. He had some time before transfiguration, and he wanted to make good on his promise to look into Luna's situation.

Across the room, in a slightly darker corner and unbeknownst to Harry, Ron and Hermione watched him leave.

"What the _hell_ is he doing Hermione?" Ron hissed darkly, narrowed eyes never leaving Harry's retreating back. "Zabini is a Slytherin!"

"I'm aware, Ron. Personally, I think it's about time some of us realised that not all Slytherins are like Malfoy - the sorting hat keeps singing about inter-house unity, it's about time somebody started making it happen."

"But _Slytherin_ Hermione. It's one thing to talk to a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, but hanging out with a Slytherin? No thank you. Everybody says that wasn't a wizard who ever went dark that wasn't Slytherin - there's just something about that house that you can't trust."

"Peter Pettigrew was in Gryffindor Ron - you know, the man who betrayed Harry's parents, joined Voldemort, killed thirteen people and framed Harry's godfather. Not to mention transformed into a rat and lived at your house for a decade. Not all Gryffindors are good, not all Slytherins are evil."

Ron didn't argue the point, but he continued seething. That was _his_ best friend, getting all pally with a Slytherin of all people. It wasn't right in Ron's eyes - the Weasley didn't want Harry getting caught up with the likes of them. Harry had been through enough without making friends that would one day betray him. He wouldn't argue with Harry, but he cared too much to let something like that happen to _his_ best friend.

* * *

Daisy Betteridge crept stealthily along the corridors not a ten minute walk from the entrance to Ravenclaw common room. Most had long gone to bed, and Daisy knew full well that Snape stalked the corridors around the Gryffindor common room more than anywhere else. The worst she had to compete with was Mrs Norris and Filch - but that should be fine, as long as she was careful and fast.

The castle was starting to get terribly cold in the halls at night - _Hogwarts: A History_ details how the warming charms that warms the castle are lowered in strength as the sun sets in unessential places to preserve power and Daisy could see her breath cloud out around her mouth as she walked as swiftly as she could to her first destination. One of the castle's many suits of armour stood a little ways down the corridor she was moving through, torchlight reflections holding merry festivities upon it's surface.

She stopped in front of it, deftly sliding open its helmet's mouthpiece and stuffing a bundle of Hogwarts robes inside. Smirking, she slid the armour shut again and set off through the castle once more, pausing briefly a few minutes later to apply a sticking charm to a shoe and banish into the tall Hogwarts ceiling.

The items in question belonged to Luna Lovegood, Ravenclaw third year and house pariah come shameful secret.

Simply put, the girl was not fit to wear their uniform. She floated about the place, blathering her nonsense about creatures that only existed in her and father's empty little heads. Ravenclaw was a proud house of logic, reason and intelligence; and Loony Lovegood possessed none of those qualities. So her and some of the other older students had taken upon themselves to _persuade_ her to leave the school.

The girl couldn't even take the hint.

Daisy withdrew her next item with some considerable relish. It was one of the girl's more ridiculous items of clothing. An awful mockery of a necklace constructed out of cheap gemstones prized by muggles and butterbeer corks. The girl damn near never took the thing off, but in a moment of brilliance, Daisy had managed to hit it with a rather perfectly cast switching spell. It was time to really make things clear and with a simple painting charm, Daisy began to scrawl the words _Loony Lovegood Not Welcome Here_ in clashing multi-coloured writing, and sticking the necklace to the wall just below before preparing the pièce de résistance.

She aimed her wand at the necklace.

" _Reduct-"_

Her curse was cut short as she felt a cold jab of wood in the back of her neck, the easily recognised tip of a wand.

"Who on earth is-"

" _Ardentus Valdi."_

Daisy Betteridge was aware of nothing else but horrible, burning pain under her skin, almost immediately sending her sprawling to her knees as she tried in vain to stop the sensation of her flesh boiling under her skin. She writhed for an eternity consisting of a few moments, before a quiet whisper of " _stupefy"_ ended her suffering.


	7. Of Allies and Enemies

**!**

* * *

 _Stand Tall - The Rise of Harry Potter_

 _Chapter VII_

 _Of Allies and Enemies_

* * *

Harry glanced around the room. The three boys present had moved all of the tables and chairs in the abandoned charms classroom on the sixth floor of Hogwarts. It was far enough away from any of the common rooms that it wasn't likely that patrolling professors would catch them, and either way, Harry already had the Marauders Map out for them to monitor.

In the meantime, Hermione had patrolled the room setting up various charms that would help them tonight. Cushioning charms on the walls and floors, protections around the valuable furniture and, Harry was interested to note, simple temporary runes to deaden noise and encourage passers by to ignore the rune. It was nothing that would stop a Professor from finding them, but it would hopefully deter the more irritating prefects.

Finally, the room was ready. Hermione insisted that the charms would hold for quite some time, but Harry was determined that they find a way to speed the entire process up, as it ate up valuable practice time. He, Neville and Ron glanced at the girl, all assuming she would be guiding their sessions. Harry thought she saw his bushy haired friend suppress an eye-roll.

"So," she started, sounding like a poor impression of Professor McGonagall. "We're all here to improve on our defensive skills as, let's face it, they are currently not up to scratch. Not for our OWLS, and certainly not when it comes to actually defending ourselves. So we've decided to right that. Normally, I'd love to be leading a group like this," here she paused, and locked eyes with Harry, who smelt the coming danger from a mile away. "However, I'm not the best person here at defense, nor do I have the best instincts when it comes to being in _actual_ deadly situations." Harry thought of the Devil's Snare in first year, and found it hard to disagree - no matter how much he wanted to. "Harry, you're a far better person to be leading us through this. I'll happily help with research, but in teaching spellcasting, I can't hold a candle to you."

Harry knew that it was hard for Hermione to admit something like that, and it was for that reason as much as any other, that Harry traded places with Hermione to address his friends.

"Right, er- Hermione was right that our defense professors have been pretty rubbish so far. Professor Lupin was great, but his focus on dark creatures means our actual wandwork needs a hell of a lot of, well, _work."_ Harry started pacing the front, as much to relieve his nerves as anything else, as the others watched, focused. "I had actually been thinking about this earlier. It was really tempting to go and research a bunch of new spells and start learning them, but then I thought - when's the last time any of us actually worked on _Expelliarmus_ , or even _Flipendo?_ These are basic building blocks, and I tried earlier and I _know_ my disarming is worse than what it was."

"So," he continued with a deep breath, "I thought we should really be starting there. What are the very basics we would need to fight back if attacked - actually _defending_ against the Dark Arts? The disarming charm, the stunning spell, the shield charm and something with a bit more bite - I was thinking the reductor curse."

Hermione had actually raised her hand, something so on her mind that she had an intense look of consternation on her face. Harry ignored her, feeling as though he already knew what she was going to ask.

"I know some of those spells we don't learn until next year or the year after. We need to prioritise though - give ourselves the ability to defend us and eachother, _then_ we'll worry about the curriculum. So, today let's focus on the disarming charm, because it's the absolute bare minimum of what we need."

Hermione seemed mollified, and Ron and Neville were pretty ready to start casting, so Harry got Hermione to talk about the theory of the spell, whilst Harry demonstrated. Essentially, the disarming charm boiled down to intent. Hermione talked for a while about proper wand movements and such - useful in their own right, but not really the crucial point - before Harry demonstrated. He got Hermione to attempt to disarm him.

Standing across from someone as good as Hermione, even for Harry was a little nervy, but he looked far more at ease than Hermione, who appeared incredibly reluctant to cast at him.

It showed.

Hermione cast a picture perfect _expelliarmus_ at Harry, and the spell careened violently towards his wand. Harry's wand arm was jerked back from the impact of the spell, but vitally, he still held his wand.

"The most important thing with this spell - morse so than the wand movements and theory, is intent. You have to _want_ the wand in your hand. As much as you can imagine yourself wanting anything. Harry focused in on Hermione, concentrated everything he had on getting her wand - on defeating his friend until he could practically feel the magic inside him begging to do what he wanted.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ Harry cried, and a much more vibrant - much more fierce blast of light flew at Hermione. She was knocked for six and sent sprawling, but her wand, found it's way straight to Harry's hand.

In defensive magic, intent was _everything._

They paired up, focused on disarming eachother in turns - Ron and Hermione, him and Neville. It wouldn't have been unfair to suggest that Neville needed some work. It wasn't so much the wand movements - his were pretty much as good as Harry's - it wasn't even the intent, not really. Neville wanted it so much that Harry could practically feel it himself. Neville's issue, Harry quickly realised, was confidence.

You can want a thing to happen with your magic, but if you didn't believe it was possible, wanting it just wouldn't be enough. Neville was so down on himself, he didn't even believe that he could ever disarm Harry.

The last Potter changed tact. Instead of talking to Neville about intent and what he could work on - Harry praised the things he saw were right. 'Good wand movements, Neville' and so on. Rapidly, Neville began to show hints of improvement. His charm started packing more wallop - he knocked Harry's arm further and further back. As Neville's confidence grew, the potential power the last Longbottom could bring to bear started to become more and more obvious and Harry grinned as he fought harder and harder to keep his wand - until, an hour in, he couldn't any more. Harry's wand, rather than returning to Neville flew across the room rattling airily as it bounced across the room.

Even Ron and Hermione paused their practice, not quite believing what they were seeing. Neville was bright red, but Harry was absolutely beaming, and rushed to congratulate Neville.

They carried on for a few moments more, before Harry reconvened them. It was time to really see where they were at - it was time to duel.

Neville stood opposite him, shifting nervously. Harry was more relaxed - side on, remembering the stance Snape took when duelling Lockhart - but infinitely less worried. Hermione indicated they should start and Neville rushed into a disarming spell, but Harry was already moving out of the line of fire. He snapped off a spell he was confident in - _flipendo_ , or the knock-back jynx - at Neville's left leg, sweeping it out from under him. Off balance, Neville was already falling as Harry tagged him with a light _expelliarmus._

Ron was to go against Hermione next, and the Weasley had a confident grin on his face as he sauntered into position across from a gradually more ticked off Hermione. Ron had already made his first mistake - he was underestimating Hermione enormously. Harry signalled that they should start and Hermione didn't even move as she started firing spells at Ron. Most of them Harry wasn't ashamed to admit he didn't know, but he did recognise the crimson of a stunning spell and realised that Hermione was studying very far ahead.

Ron had to scramble to avoid the magical barrage that was coming his way, and managed to find the time to fire off an easily dodged _expelliarmus_. What Hermione didn't count on was that Ron had followed that spell with a very fast pair of jelly-legs jinxes either side of Hermione, and suddenly the girl was staggering to the side unable to keep her balance.

Ron made his second mistake. He paused to smirk at Harry and celebrate. Trouble was, Hermione was well aware of the counter-curse to the jelly-legs, and suddenly Ron was hit by three seperate stunning spells. They were weak - you could tell that Hermione had learned them just for today - but they did the trick, and Ron was out cold on his arse.

Neville pointedly refused to duel Hermione after that, stating that there would be no benefit, so Harry stood across from the ridiculously knowledgable girl - just a touch more alert than he had been against Neville.

Harry had no illusions about Hermione's skill level compared to his. If he wanted to win today, he'd have to fight for it.

Hermione led with a stunner as Harry sized the girl up, trying to catch him off guard, but Harry was already moving. It had struck him during the previous duels just how static everyone had been - how easy to hit they were for a bunch of kids who didn't even know the shield spell yet. The vivid red bolt of _stupefy_ sailed past him, splashing harmlessly against the warded walls and Harry was casting quickly as he went. This was his advantage. Hermione had variety, Harry knew what he knew like the back of his hand and could therefore cast it as he sidestepped whatever Hermione was doing.

Flipendo. _Flipendo_. Expelliarmus. _Jelly legs_. Body bind. _Expelliarmus_. Hermione was nimble enough even without the dynamism that Harry had. Not really athletic, but still managing to stay just ahead of Harry's spells as they traded them without really moving much at all. In the background Harry became aware that Ron had stirred awake in the background of their fight, and was now watching them. His stare was oddly intent, and Harry got the impression it wasn't in a good way.

He felt the tell-tale 'fizz' of the Jelly-Legs Jinx and his legs gave out under him. From his position down on his arse he could see Hermione ready herself to press her advantage, and a rapidly cast expelliarmus, followed immediately by a stunner was sent his way. Harry had lost. He knew that, as did everybody else in the room. He had no way out, and only one solution came to mind. It was half baked and stupid. He had _read_ about the spell. Briefly. There was no way he'd be able to cast it first time in a million years.

Harry felt a smile find it's way onto his face even as he brought his wand up to meet the incoming fire. The impossible or defeat. Success or death. The situation now was so far away from that it wasn't even funny.

But was it? Really? _Draw a tight circle with the tip of your wand, using mostly your wrist._ Both margins were tightrope thin, and Harry walked them often. _Visualise a muggle shield. The clearer and more vivid the better._ Time slowed as defeat spiralled towards him, much as the Basilisk had nearly two years prior; and despite the lack of real danger, Harry found his heart raced just as much as it did then. That feeling - was it fear? It couldn't be, not really. Fear was locked in a cupboard. Fear was doing nothing. Fear was inertia and confusion. Fear was defeat. He wasn't defeated - not yet. _Will your shield to protect you. Willpower is critical to success. Don't wish it to protect you - ensure that it does._

"Protego!" Harry bellowed, his eyes focused to a razor point upon the spells coming at him. He could _see_ them both hitting his shield and being dispersed like water balloons. He had to _make_ it happen.

Faintly, a golden circle shimmered into existence in front of him like a viking buckler, and the disarming spell struck it with much more force than Harry was expecting. He had to fight but the spell dispersed violently into a cornucopia of colour and Harry felt the elation of success as he realised what he'd done.

He barely noticed just how quickly the stunner turned his first ever shield spell into wizarding confetti as his world fell to black around him.

* * *

A week passed since she had beaten Harry in their duel, and the group had met twice since. Harry had been typically effusive in his praise for Hermione when she had won but Hermione just couldn't bring herself to internalise that praise. Harry had been _winning_ plain as day. She had spell variety, but her casting and reaction time was slow. She never should have been able to hit Harry.

Their impromptu tutor had been distracted by Ron's awakening. That normally wouldn't have been enough to put Harry off though, and Hermione had wracked her brains since to try and work out what had done it, but come up short. Harry only said that distractions were part of a dangerous situation and you had to learn to cope with them so his defeat didn't matter.

Didn't mean Hermione had to like it, however. _Especially_ since Harry's final spell had been a shield charm not even on this year's defense curriculum - Hermione never did ask the boy when he'd even had time to practice that. Of course, that could well have been the first time. She wasn't sure whether that would be more or less galling.

Still, the practices were easing her anxieties considerably. Yes, she was in danger as a muggleborn witch at Hogwarts - especially being friends with Harry. However, now they were doing something about it. Hermione hated to admit it, but an evening with Harry and her disarming charm was so much better, and duelling the boy himself had been eye opening. Harry's level of fitness meant he had a huge advantage. From what she had been able to glean, wizarding combat was a rather stationary affair and Neville had confirmed.

Harry had simply said that standing still when there was a spell coming at you was stupid, and they had found it quite hard to disagree in the end.

At last, the target of her thoughts walked in, an easy, lopsided smile on his face. "Hey Hermione." He said, awfully chipper for someone that wasn't her entering the library. He sat down and without much preamble, the pair got to work. Between them, they had polished off McGonagall's transfiguration essay without much fuss (Hermione couldn't help but notice she barely had to change a thing about what Harry had already completed - a huge shift from last year), and they moved quickly on to the true purpose of their meeting. Now Harry had an idea of what they needed, Harry wanted a plan as to how to proceed and what should be prioritised for their little group. Shield charms were definitely next - especially since Neville could now actually cast _expelliarmus_ to an acceptable standard. What came after though was more difficult.

Most duelling texts seemed to indicate that stunners and the Reductor curse were a duellists bread and butter. However, the reductor curse was starting to push the boundaries of what Hermione thought was an acceptable risk without a professor being involved, and for some reason Harry insisted that they kept their little arrangement a secret. They needed things they could practice relatively safely, things useful for the fights that were in the future, and no less importantly, spells that they needed to know for their OWLs.

Hermione loved a challenge, and if she loved _anything_ more than a challenge, it was a study plan. A _colour-coded_ study plan. With post-its. And a nice folder. Harry really had no idea what he was letting himself in for, even after several years of knowing her.

Still, it took them several hours of reading and making drafts, but they finally came up with something that satisfied them both for the rest of the year. A table of Ravenclaws across from them left just as this happened, sparking something in her memory that Lavender had been babbling about in the common room.

"Hey Harry - did you hear about Betteridge?"

"No," he said, but a small frown appeared on his face either way. "What happened?"

"She had to do a stint in the hospital wing. Apparently she was out in the hallways after curfew and got cursed in the back." Harry sat up, and regarded her with a intense look.

"What house is she in?"

"Ravenclaw."

Harry started to speak but stopped himself, a hard glint in his eyes and Hermione sat forward keenly. She knew that look far too well - Harry had worked something out about this, either by instinct or by intellect, and was somehow involved enough to act.

To be quite honest 'involved enough' covered just about anything that could possibly happen, but that was neither here nor there.

"I don't know enough to say anything for certain, but there's something happening in Ravenclaw, and I don't like it one bit." Harry proceeded to tell her everything he knew - apparently he had plied one of the boys in Ravenclaw for information about what was happening to a girl called Luna, and had discovered a mess of bullying that nobody seemed to be able to unravel. Hermione's blood boiled that nothing had but done but regardless, Luna now had the both of them onside, even if she didn't really know it.

The day crept by for Harry once he and Hermione had finalised the plans for their little group. Once again, there were things going on at Hogwarts that were keeping him incredibly preoccupied. Their group, Luna Lovegood and Betteridge and Voldemort all stole his thoughts at various times - and that was without counting the so-called Triwizard Tournament looming over him like a shadow.

Of course, he was the only one that regarding it like this. Hermione was too busy obsessing over the history of the thing and the chance to watch the next chapter unfold in front of her. Ron couldn't get the idea of being in it out of his head. He had tried valiantly to play it down, but Harry knew his best friend. The idea of winning the tournament, having something that set him apart from his high-flying siblings - above them even - had captured his imagination. The rest of the school was caught somewhere in between those two viewpoints. Some were excited to take part, to be the school's champion. Some were excited at the chance to watch.

Harry was just hoping he wouldn't be involved. Fortunately, Dumbledore had somewhat seen to that, creating a magical age line around the Goblet of Fire. One had to place their name written on a piece of paper inside the Goblet to nominate themselves to compete and the age line prevented anyone outside of seventh years from doing so.

Of course, to Fred and George Weasley, the idea of a magical barrier cast by Albus Dumbledore meant only one thing. A Challenge. Harry, Ron and a crowd of mostly Gryffindors (with some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws thrown in the mix) had gathered around the twins and the age line about an hour before dinner to watch the twins varied attempts to beat Dumbledore's spell.

Naturally they all failed, and the teachers who had begun to walk by to get to the Great Hall didn't even bother to stop their antics (Harry could have sworn he saw a wry smile on McGonagall's face, but he could have been wrong). At one point Dumbledore himself turned up and chuckled softly as Fred ate what looked like a custard cream - only to transform into an overlarge, buttercup yellow canary and try to fly across the line ('it was designed to stop humans not birds!') only to be bounced back and sent sprawling across the floor, dazed and Fred Weasley once again.

"Wish I knew a way past that thing." Ron said suddenly, distracting him from the antics of the twins. "You got any ideas mate?"

"I have no idea how I'd even begin to get past a spell that Professor Dumbledore had cast. Sorry mate." And it was true, Harry couldn't imagine ever breaking past defenses that Dumbledore had set, despite all of the extra defense work he'd been doing. The man was almost untouchable as far as Harry could see - there was nothing he couldn't do with magic. Still, he could pick up on the disappointment in Ron's demeanor - his best friend wasn't exactly subtle with his emotions and Harry knew full well the pressure that Ron put on himself to live up to his brothers. A distraction was in order.

"How about we ditch watching your brothers do this to themselves and go for a fly. No quidditch doesn't necessarily mean no flying." The smile that broke out over Ron's face told him he'd made the right call, and within a few minutes the boys were up in the air soaring through the crisp moonlit evening. The pair darted about for a time, barrel rolls and dives aplenty, Ron somewhat slower on a school broom but Harry adjusted his speed for his friend so as to make the difference unnoticeable. Eventually, Ron pulled up alongside him red and sweaty as he was, and grinning broadly.

"What a brilliant idea, mate." Ron gasped out, and Harry returned the grin. Ron was getting pretty good on his broom. Harry knew he wanted to be a keeper, but quite frankly, it was a waste of his control - he'd do well as a chaser calling the plays and dictating the tempo of games. Ron wasn't the best flyer, but he knew the game better than anybody. Playing against him at the Burrow was a nightmare truth be told. Harry was faster, more skilled but Ron just seemed to always be in the right place to intercept or block. It was uncanny, and reminded him far too much of how the red-headed boy played chess. The comparison, even this far up in the air ignited his curiosity.

"Hey Ron, do wizards duel on brooms? Like in proper battles and stuff?"

Ron scrunched up his face in concentration but in the end only shrugged his shoulders. "Not that I've heard of - it'd take a madman to do it though. One hit at height and you'd be a goner, even from a stunner."

Harry nodded, "I suppose, I was just kind of picturing it a bit like a quidditch strategy, you know? Impossible to hit, raining down spells in formation and stuff. You'd almost have to call plays to make sure everyone knew what they were doing."

Ron looked pensive but the conversation ended there. It had gotten too cold even with a weak warming charm, the brisk evening beginning to give way to a chill that hinted at the winter nights to come, and it was starting to get uncomfortably close to curfew. The boys headed back inside together, Ron giving Harry a play-by-play of a Cannons game that Harry was pretty sure he had heard before.

He listened with rapt attention anyway, and very quickly they had made it back to Gryffindor Tower and their beds.

* * *

Flitwick's classroom was a unique place in the castle. The wall were lined with piles off books of various ages and sizes, towered crookedly up to the high ceilings; and the desks were staggered in an oddly disorientating manner around the room. No pair of students really lined up with another in a remotely logical way, and objects filled empty spaces at random. Draws and cabinets full of feathers, balls of string and a whole assortment of magical and mundane objects were scattered around the place in no discernible pattern.

The professor however, seemed quite at home in all the chaos. Not once had Harry ever seen him not remember where a thing was, or stumble even a little as he bounced around the room busily observing his students' wand work.

The work itself also seemed unique to Harry. It was all embedded in theory, but they focused on the practical to the extreme. If Snape's class had no foolish wand waving, then Flitwick's was _entirely_ that. As a result it was almost always the most consistently interesting - and useful - class they had. Harry knew well and good how to deal with a grindylow - an aggressive water demon that resided at the bottom of lakes and rivers - but was never likely to come across one. The summoning charm however, was immediately and obviously useful in a multitude of ways and happened to be today's subject of study.

He gave a snappy flick of his wrist, moving his wand in a sharp upwards curve, " _Accio_ feather."

The feather on the smooth oak desk in front of him trembled slightly, but nothing more. He scowled at the dull white object that hadn't moved much more than that in the twenty odd minutes of trying. There were perhaps four other people in the room who had managed to coax a tremble out of their feather so he supposed that he should be satisfied in his relative progress, but he couldn't summon anything besides irritation at his own perceived failure.

For such a practical class, Flitwick assigned a heap of homework for this charm. A few books to read, and several rolls of parchment in preparation. It was scarily reminiscent of McGonagall's homework habits. It still confused Harry how the different disciplines of magic seemed to require different things for success. Transfiguration needed precise clarity on the _how_. You needed to understand the flow of magic, what it was doing as you transfigured an object, and also a knowledge of the thing you are transfiguring to. It was why, McGongall had once explained, she was particularly proficient at transfiguration into and from cats. As a cat animagus, she had an inherent understanding of what made a cat what it was to match her brilliance with the theory. Precision and visualisation on this level made all the difference for success. It was why they started with simple, incredibly mundane objects in their First Year.

Defense however, had a completely different approach. It was all about intent, your will as the caster to ensure the magic did what you wanted it to do. Visualisation was important still, but an understanding of the theory seemed to make little to know difference. You just had to know what you wanted and the confidence that you could. Charms seemed to straddle the line between the two other disciples. It was heavily practical, intent based magic. You had to have the will and belief, absolutely. The theory however was just as important. _How_ are you going to get your magic to do what you want it to do?

He raised his wand once more, a familiar tingle running through his fingertips almost as though magic itself was anticipating being used. Visualisation. He could see the feather in his mind's eye come to him. But there was more - it came quickly, but not so quickly that it would be difficult to deal with, almost as if it were a gently thrown ball. Did it spiral or spin, or was it clean and true? No, no spin at all felt wrong when he tried to keep that image in his mind. At span in a steady barrel roll, like a muggle drill moving at half speed.

He could almost _see_ an ethereal shimmer of magic as he performed the spell in his mind, reaching for the feather and bringing it to him. He controlled the speed, he controlled the spin. The magic followed his desire, and therein sat the willpower aspect of the spell. His will, his determination that the magic do what he needed it to do. There was no room for questioning or doubt. It simply _would._

Precision. A sharp twist of his wrist created a curved wand motion. " _Accio_ feather."

Focus. Every step needed to be held together for the duration of the spell - until it had achieved its desired purpose. The feather trembled, and raised from the well worn surface that it rested, and started to hover towards him; the gentle spin exactly as he pictured, the pace _exactly_ what he saw in his minds eye. He felt elation creep in before the feather was even halfway to his hands and the feather had hit the ground before he could do anything about it. _Focus._

"Marvelous Potter! I was not expecting such progress from anybody here today! Excellent precision with your wand, and the movement of the feather suggests you were visualising correctly. Care to hazard a guess as to why you only partially completed the spell?" The squeaky professor questioned, and Harry was suddenly very aware of the eyes of the class upon. Defense aside, he had never been known for being the first to do something. There were always a good five or six others that managed it before he could.

"Erm-" He started hesitantly, "I lost focus Professor. I was so happy it began to move properly that I stopped concentrating on actually making it happen."

The professor nodded earnestly. "A good enough explanation, and one that I agree with. Remember, learning a spell requires constant focus and attention until you have achieved a degree of familiarity with the magic involved. You will find Potter, that the next time getting to this point will be far easier. The more you perform the spell, the more familiar you are with it, the focus required falls away from all but the most complicated of spells. Well done!"

Harry smiled, grateful for the praise but frustrated all the same. He had been so _close_ and had been celebrating when he should have been making sure he finished the job. He practiced for the final ten minutes of the lesson with varying success, but his growing frustration meant that he never matched that initial success. Flitwick simply patted his shoulder reassuringly, and advised him to take a break from trying the spell so he could come back to it later with renewed vigor.

Charms was the final lesson of the day and despite lingering disappointment over the summoning spell, Harry eagerly took himself to the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione, hunger overtaking other thoughts.

The hall was full of the humdrum of pretty much the entire student body talking and eating at once and Harry eyed the completely full staff table at the very front of the hall. Still, dinner was good and Harry more than ate his fill which was the norm for him at Hogwarts, if not so much at the Dursley's. Harry and Ron chatted easily about the qualities of various brooms, and Hermione interjected every so often with a tidbit that she had picked up from Quidditch Through the Ages. Before long, they were broken from their conversation by a gentle twinkle of a fork being tapped against Dumbledore's goblet. It was a soft sound that still seemed to somehow cut through every conversation in the room with ease, bringing the entire room to silence.

Oftentimes, Dumbledore would simply stand if he needed to say a few words to the student body. That motion alone served to take a vice like grip upon their attentions - the fact that Dumbledore chose to do otherwise had the whole school on tenterhooks.

"It is my pleasure to announce that, in thirty minutes time, the entire student body is invited into the grounds to welcome students of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons schools to our school for the Triwizard tournament. Of course, we are to compete as a school against them; however, we are to do so in the spirit of friendship and co-operation and mutual respect. As such, it is naturally expected that we welcome these guests to our school - our home - as warmly as possible." Dumbledore smiled softly, and his eyes seemed to sweep across every single person looking back at him in turn.

None were able to look away, nor did they show any sign of disagreement - not even the Slytherin children from the more prejudiced families showed any sign of rebellion under the scrutiny of the Headmaster.

Desert was a swift affair after the announcement. Treacle tarts, ice cream and trifles alike were demolished at speed by the entire student body, which had began to filter quickly outside. Ron looked perturbed at having to leave the hall with so little pudding actually eaten, but he wolfed his pudding down and left with Harry and Hermione regardless.

Magical travel by nature tended to adhere to strict timings - magical trains and buses ran to perfection, and the instant nature of portkeys, apparition and floo meant timings were easy to get right - so as the promised time grew nearer, the noise of the Hogwarts crowd faded into tense anticipation as the student body strained to catch the first glimpse of one of the arriving schools. Almost exactly thirty minutes from Dumbledore's announcement, the first excited whispers broke out from the students at the very front of the crowd and soon spread backwards.

It only took Harry a moment before his sharp, quidditch trained eyes caught their own glimpse.

A carriage in the sky came bursting out of the clouds. It loomed ominously over the grounds shrouded in black by the moody night sky. What was clear however, was that it was being pulled by twelve enormous horses, winged and the size of elephants. Then, the carriage caught the light emanating from Hogwart's towers and windows, and it seemed the school as a whole drew breath at the sight.

Ornate golden trimmings adorned a powder blue carriage the size of a house, but designed like the most opulent of European palaces. The carriage swooped towards the ground for a majestic landed, only for the school's attention to be drawn be the cry of a fourth year Hufflepuff who was pointing desperately at the Black Lake. It's surface was bubbling violently and was suddenly pierced by the bough of a dark galleon, awe-inspiring and terrible, as the ship rose slowly from the waters as though it was a shipwreck being winched from the bottom of the sea.

Murky water cascaded down the sides and decks of the enormous ship, running off to the waters they had originated, reflecting the haunting yellow glow of the lights coming from the ship's portholes. The skeletal ship began to glide silently along the surface of the lake, but strangely didn't create a single ripple in it's water's. Harry gulped reflexively, unable to tear his eyes away from the ship's lights, their glow reminding him vaguely of the eyes of some alien deep sea creature he'd seen on a documentary at the Dursley's.

The ship and the carriage seemed to arrive simultaneously at the destinations, the ship docking at the shore of the lake just as the carriage came to a halt on the lush grass that covered most of Hogwart's immediate grounds. Harry's breath caught in his throat as both ship and carriage stilled simultaneously and it seemed that even the early evening chill of the Scottish Highlands was frozen in time, waiting for movement from either vessel. Suddenly, a wooden gangway began to fold itself out from the Durmstrang ship, unrolling like a brand new carpet and solidifying into a hard wooden bridge from deck to land. As if to compete with the other, the Beauxbaton carriage doors flung open to the sound of grandiose trumpets, and the student body suddenly found themselves torn between which spectacle to pay attention to.

Beauxbaton's students left first, twelve girls marched out of the carriage and into a formation just before it, dressed in light blue dresses and over the shoulder things that Harry could only really call capes. He wondered why just twelve students had come, and why he could feel an incredibly familiar pull of magic. He could feel his attention being drawn to the students. It was forcible, nigh on irresistible, but he knew it and knew that he wouldn't succumb. Part of the pre-match entertainment at the Quidditch world cup had been veela - magic beings who had a natural 'allure' that mentally affected the opposite sex. It was a simulated attraction and a very simplistic form of unintentional mind control.

Harry had felt it, but been able to resist. The Weasley's on the other hand... A glance to Ron confirmed his suspicion. The Weasley was wide-eyed and scanning the girls with a dopey, vaguely leery, smile. Beauxbaton had at least one veela amongst their number. That fact didn't really bother Harry, though he hoped those affected by their allure would be able to adjust. Hogwarts' champion might have some difficulty if he were badly effected.

The girls marched up to Dumbledore and the gathered students and curtsied in unison to them all. A single one of their number stepped forward, and Harry immediately recognised her as the cause for his friend's _distraction._

"We thank you for you welcome and hospitality, Professor. We hope the tournament will be a shining representation of unity and competition among allies." She spoke in a thick French accent, but her voice rang sweetly like a bell and Harry wondered for the first time whether he was _completely_ immune to the girl's allure. She performed her own curtsy to Dumbledore himself, who smiled and nodded back respectfully, before returning to her place with an unnerving grace.

A large woman that reminded Harry all too much of Hagrid, dressed in what seemed to be an incredibly valuable beige fur coat, ambled up to Dumbledore with a tight smile and shook his hand.

"Welcome to our school, Madame Maxine," Dumbledore said with just a hint of pride, "I hope you will enjoy your time with us."

The woman seemed to be preparing a haughty sniff - something he knew well from spending years living with his Aunt Petunia - when they were interrupted. A deep and ominous gong rang out across the grounds like a colossal wave crashing onto and cascading around a cliff-face, and those that could break themselves free of the girl's allure turned their attentions eagerly to the Durmstrang ship.

A low chant began to echo forth, rumbling across them like the beginnings of a major earthquake. The Gregorian tremors were joined in a moment by the sound of heavy set boots meeting wood in firm unison, before the Durmstrang students appeared over the top of their gangway, marching down as Beauxbaton had. They looked stern and fierce, the very picture of some twenty young men marching into battle, yet losing none of the grace that the girls of Beauxbaton had shown. Durmstrang had bought a mix of girls and boys for the competition, in contrast to the French Academy's all-girl selection and Harry couldn't help but be curious at the reasoning.

The Durmstrang headmaster, again in contrast to his French counterpart, led his pupils from the front; those from his school stood at the base of the gangway, appearing to not notice the crowd arrayed before them as their headmaster greeted Harry's own with a tense handshake but no words. The man was tall and gangly, but seemed to have an impressive rigidity about him, as well as steel grey eyes that reminded him of Sirius' when he had been looking at Peter Pettigrew. His dark and whispy beard stood in stark counterpoint to Dumbledore's own full and snow-white beard, ever tucked into his belt, and Harry couldn't help but notice that both Snape and McGonagall were the very picture of coiled tension either side of the ever relaxed and smiling Headmaster.

Belatedly, Harry realised that he hadn't actually noticed the Headmistress of Beauxbaton until she was actually within handshake distance of Dumbledore himself and he frowned. Nobody moved like that unintentionally. Spirit of co-operation his arse - both school's had come to make a power play. They were here to show that they were better than the famed Hogwarts, that they ran better school's than _the_ Albus Dumbledore.

Harry couldn't help but wonder if the school was up to that kind of challenge.


	8. The Fourth Champion

**!**

* * *

 _Stand Tall_

 _Chapter VIII_

 _The Fourth Champion_

* * *

Despite all the excitement, very little changed at Hogwarts for the arrival of two foreign contingents of students. Meals were busier, but they didn't feel it especially - the Great Hall was expanded magically to accomodate and the new students kept mainly to themselves in the week that followed. Not that they were rude - far from it. Both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang children kept a finely controlled veneer of politeness at all times, and in that regard, they certainly were the better of the schools. Slytherin took to Durmstrang better for the most part, and sneered and quietly (whilst managing to be obvious all the same) mocked the girls of Beauxbatons and their giant of a Headmistress.

Harry didn't think Gryffindor were much better mind you. They were just the same, but in reverse; with utterly conspicuous murmurs about Durmstrang being a school for the Dark Arts.

The only members of either school that seemed above reproach were Viktor Krum of Durmstrang, a teenage Quidditch star that had played in the World Cup this Summer, and Fleur Delacour. Delacour was from a politically powerful family in France according to Hermione, and several Slytherin as well as a smattering of the other houses had already tried to make some kind of connection for themselves or their families. Added to that, she was a Veela, and so had a terrible effect on pretty much the entire male population of Hogwarts.

This naturally included Ron, much to Hermione's... Frustration.

For his part, Harry kept up his attitude of wanting as little to do with the tournament and those who had come to compete as possible. He had been polite to all of the students from other schools, but refrained from involving himself in any of the conversation about or even with them. Instead, he focused himself on what he was actually at Hogwarts for - learning magic, and spending time with his friends. Of course, their practices had continued as often as they could manage in the weeks since the other schools had arrived, and all of them had improved. Neville could disarm even Harry now most of the time, and the group had worked through the basics studiously. Priorities had shifted though, and Harry had the group working on the Shield Charm more often than not, satisfied with the groups grasp of the disarming charm and the knock-back jinx. It was tricky, requiring a high level of intent and visualisation for even the most basic variation of the spell, but too important in defending yourself to be ignored.

Harry was once again in the library, this time looking over the Runes books that Sirius and Remus had sent him over the summer in preparation for this afternoon's work. He was just looking over some interesting variations upon some Nordic runes and their application in securing a valuable location when a silky voice interrupted his self-directed study.

"I see you've been keeping up with your study, Potter."

Harry looked up into dark eyes of Blaise Zabini with an easy smile that seemed to directly contrast the Slytherin's carefully neutral expression.

"Of course. Have to say though, it's much easier when you have such an accomplished mentor to point you in all the right directions." Harry wasn't overselling it either. He had been steadily working his way through the first year of the Hogwarts Ancient Runes curriculum. The nature of it, focusing on the translation of runic symbols and hieroglyphics lended itself well to self-study, but having someone there to smooth over any bumps and spot misunderstandings was an invaluable help. More importantly however, Blaise had been crucial in steering him towards some very simple defensive wardings that Harry could in theory start practicing creating (no actual magic involved at first, of course) right away.

"Likewise, even a half way competent instructor has made some improvements to my spell casting." Blaise's expression never shifted as he took a seat at his table but Harry thought a smirk danced behind the Slytherin's dark eyes. He fought the urge to roll his eyes at the back-handed compliment and painfully cliche Slytherin equivalent to banter. Blaise peered at his scribbled notes from across the table and then shifted his eyes to regard the last Potter carefully. "I hear, " he began quietly, his voice sickeningly silky-smooth all of a sudden, like fine velvet. "That certain... unruly factions among the school population are participating in an underground dueling club with only their closest associates invited."

Harry's face remained carefully neutral. "And I hear that Hogwarts rumor mill is spectacularly talented at making a mountains out of molehills." Harry paused, and made a show of thinking for a moment. "Actually, scratch that, I know from personal experience that any second hand information 'heard' in this school is worth less than Hippogriff dung."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, and Harry shrugged. He had been stung a few too many times by the 'I heard Potter did/is/thinks' rumors that seemed to infect the school's populace in waves. Obviously, by this point he understood his own _fame:_ why people seemed to think he was important and couldn't seem to let go of the idea of the Boy-Who-Lived. He was a physical, living representation of the ending of one of the darkest times in Wizarding History, whether he deserved any credit for that or not. But he didn't think that excused the transformation of that sentiment into an insane and sensationalised version of everything in his life by people who largely had never bothered to get to know him or verify the truth of what they heard and passed on.

"Ah Potter, so naive, so _Gryffindor."_ Now Harry was certain that Blaise's perfectly over-dramatic Slytherin condescension was being played for comic effect. "You don't listen to rumors for the news, Potter. Of course there's no truth in the idea of an underground dueling club. But you _do_ have some kind of defense club with only your friends invited. You listen to the rumors so you can pick out the truth behind their origins in case that truth might be useful for you to know."

Harry figured there was no point lying about it, and the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to. He _liked_ Blaise, and he had a feeling he knew where the Slytherin was going with this line of conversation. "And what do you plan on doing with the truth you think you have discovered."

"Why, ask the leader of the band of miscreants if he would be welcome, of course. I told you, I want to improve my defensive wand work. I can't think of anything better than real, practical practice with somebody with at least a smattering of experience." All pretense was gone, and despite the potential back-handedness of his words, the Slytherin was being entirely straight in so far as Harry could tell. He genuinely wanted to be involved.

"I might be able to point you in the right direction, but we need to be clear on a few things first." Harry leveled Blaise with the most serious face he could muster, and for the first time in their acquaintance Harry noticed him shift a little bit in discomfort. "Everybody invited is there as an equal to everybody else, and with the sole purpose to improve and prepare for the future. Regardless of ability, house allegiance, whatever. If one of us is struggling, we support them, not ridicule them - sound fair?"

"When you said regardless of house allegiance, did you mean just that? Including Slytherin?"

Harry had an 'of course' on the tip of his tongue, but something made him hold it back. There was no venom to Blaise's question. No sarcasm. No Slytherin. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

"Look, Zabini, I won't lie to you. I don't especially care, but you know that among some of my friends old house prejudices run fairly high, and among others the treatment they've received from those in your house have done a fantastic job of creating new ones. I can't say that your taking part won't cause a stir, but-" Harry could see Blaise frowning openly but he pressed on before he could be interrupted. "But what I can promise is that if you come, you'll be coming as my friend. As long as you commit to treating those there with respect, than I won't accept any disrespect aimed at you - especially not because of something as arbitrary as what house you're in."

"I believe you Potter, for what it's worth. But I wonder if your friends will accept those terms."

"They won't have a choice. Our group has bigger fish to fry - there are more important things at stake than Gryffindor versus bloody Slytherin. If anybody isn't willing to put house rivalries aside, then they're not welcome - friend or not."

Blaise looked at him for a moment, as if trying to figure out a particularly irritating puzzle, before the look disappeared and he stretched out his hand. Harry smiled, and shook it firmly.

"You've got yourself a deal, Potter. I'll keep it civil unless any of the others become a recurring problem. I'll trust in you to deal with any issues from your side, but I won't refrain from defending myself indefinitely."

A few minutes later and Blaise had a time and place for their next meeting, and the two turned their attentions to the Runes books Harry had been studying. Before long, Blaise opened his own set of defensive magic textbooks, and the pair spent the next hour or so throwing each other the occasional question or pointer regarding their own particular area of expertise.

The last Potter had come to school this year with the game plan of broadening his friend circle to those outside of Gryffindor - he hadn't imagined for a second that he'd be _starting_ with a Slytherin. But there was no other way to describe what Blaise had very quickly become.

Hogwarts truly was a place where the unlikely, impossible and just plain freaking weird happened.

* * *

Blaise Zabini watched Potter walk away after their little study session, as intrigued as he was satisfied by their time spent together. There was no doubt that Harry Potter was a very interesting person, and for just a moment, Blaise had been given a little glimpse into the kind of man that he would become. He had used no magic, but Blaise had felt the power that Potter had at his disposal, where Potter had realised it or not. And it wasn't simply magical, there was an _intensity_ to the Boy-Who-Lived that was difficult to not get swept up in.

Even without all of that, he found it impossible to not respect Potter's willingness to defend him to his friends. As much as Blaise had helped him with his study of Runes - another interesting development all on it's own - he had never expected Potter to be so vehement in his insistence that everybody at his little club treat each other with respect. He certainly hadn't expected a promise to deal with Weasley should he become a problem - because there was no illusion regarding whom they had been discussing. Just as Blaise was certain Potter had been trying to protect Longbottom from ridicule when he had mentioned ability.

He started to make his way from the library, work done for the evening. He passed through oak doors, footsteps hardly making a sound as he walked alone through torch-lit stone corridors. He made a left, and started towards another wooden door at the end of a smaller hall in the castle. It led to a shortcut to the dungeon that Slytherins only tended to use, a side passage that wound round several times downwards until you got to one of the few staircases in the castle that _didn't_ shift and move.

He reached for the well-polished bronze handle to pull the door open, only to have it sharply shut again by a hand from over his shoulder. It took everything in his power not to start visibly, and smoothly turned to meet the charming features of Gregory Goyle.

"Getting chummy with Potter, are we Zabini?" A sneer came from the side, and Blaise followed the sound of Malfoy until his eyes found the little weasel leaning back against the wall of the corridor, arms folded and face smug, like a rat proud of it's own flatulence.

"He has something I desire, so I have found an advantageous way of relieving him of it. Either way, it's none of your concern Malfoy."

The blond stood straight and walked closer, not stopping until Blaise could see just how much product was in the boy's hair. "Your mother never did choose a side, did she Zabini? Which side will you choose when the time comes I wonder, because it _is_ coming. And soon." Malfoy locked eyes with him, but unlike with Potter, he didn't falter. "I hope for your sake you choose the right one, Blaise."

Blaise stared Malfoy down hard. "I intend to be on the winning one, Malfoy."

And it was no word of a lie, either. Blaise was kept well-informed by his mother, and knew well and good what was coming to Wizarding Britain.

No matter what, he planned to win.

* * *

This week's meeting place was a seldom-used transfiguration classroom close to the area where Harry and Ron reckoned the Ravenclaw common room might be. Hermione had cast charms to light the room, and out of nowhere Harry cast a few spells that would apparently let him know when other people were getting close. Ron raised an eyebrow at that. Harry really seemed to have changed this year. He was more focused on school, and that edge that he seemed to gain whenever something weird was happening at school seemed to become more of a part of who he was all the time, rather than just something that appeared when things were dangerous.

Ron didn't necessarily mind that, it was difficult not to follow Harry's lead when he was like that. In some regards though, it was becoming harder to deal with. Ron's role had always been kind of like a translator. Harry was the power, the leader. Hermione was the brains and the wandwork. They hadn't grown up among wizards though, and that was where he came in. He could always chip in with a different perspective, or a bit of knowledge that you could only learn by having grown up magical.

Things were changing though. His friends were becoming more and more special, and Ron didn't seem to be able to keep up and he didn't know what to do about it. He knew it was unfair to resent them for it, but it was difficult not to feel angry at being left behind. Ron had always been chasing the shadows of his incredibly talented brothers, feeling both proud of them and insecure because of them in equal measure. Now his friends seemed to be moving ahead in the same way.

Still, these were still one way that he could be useful. So he listened determinedly as Harry began explaining today's focus, and areas of practice for everybody there.

"Now," he continued, looking suddenly uncharacteristically serious. "There is one other thing before we start. Obviously, nothing remains a secret in Hogwarts forever and I have been... Approached by another student looking to join up."

Hermione seemed light up at that. "I'm not surprised Harry. The entire school has suffered because of the teaching. Even somebody who has no idea what's coming would be keen to join a group wanting to put things right. Are they anyone we know well?"

"That's the thing. This person is somebody I think I trust, and I think I can call them a friend, so I just want to make something clear before I invite them in." He took a breath, and Ron felt a distinct set of unease as Harry quite obviously psyched himself up to say something difficult. "At this point, given what we know is coming, existing prejudices mean nothing anymore. I think anybody that we invite needs to be treated with respect, _no matter what._ We work hard, and we work together, _no matter what."_

Ron had a horrifying suspicion that he knew what Harry was getting at, and he felt his hackles rise immediately when Harry fixed _him_ with a warning stare. As if _he_ was going to be the biggest problem when Harry brought a bloody Slytherin through the door - because Ron knew that was what he was telling them. He got what Harry was trying to do, he really did - but bringing in a Slytherin just wasn't the right move. Harry just didn't understand, and he knew Hermione wouldn't either - they just hadn't grown up like he had, didn't know just how awful the people who wound up in that house had ended up over the years.

They didn't realise the mistake they were making, and worse still, he knew they would ignore him when he tried to warn them.

Harry pressed on, and welcomed Blaise Zabini into the room and introduced him to the other three of them. It wasn't Malfoy, but Ron wasn't sure that made a difference. He scowled when Zabini came to shake his hand and turned away angrily. Zabini shrugged, and Hermione hissed a furious " _Ron!"_ at him but neither phased him as much as the hurt he saw flash through his best friend's eyes. For just a moment, he felt a surge of doubt and guilt, and he did all he could to stamp it out. He loved Harry like one of his own brothers, and he wouldn't allow him to be betrayed and hurt by Zabini or any other Slytherin that he tried to be friends with.

For that is what would happen, Ron knew. His friends were special, and if keeping those friends safe from their own choices was the only role he had to play any more - if that was the only way he could be useful - he'd be damn sure that he would do it.

The session focusing on the shield charm had been the most awkward several hours of Harry's life, but thankfully after refusing Zabini's handshake Ron had kept his mouth shut, despite maintaining a vicious scowl in Zabini's direction. He'd really hoped Ron would put aside his prejudices enough to trust him on this, and it definitely hurt that his best friend hadn't been able to do that. On the other hand, Harry knew that he should have spoken to his friends about this rather than surprising them with it - Ron in particular.

Hermione and Neville had been wonderful in accepting Zabini on Harry's word, but he knew that surprising Ron with this had been the wrong move.

The Slytherin in question had left pretty swiftly, having said polite goodbyes to all but Ron, whose cold shoulder persisted; Hermione and Neville were just starting to make their way out of the room, not noticing that Harry hadn't moved and Ron was hesitating as though he had anticipated what Harry would want to do.

"Ron, could you hang back for a bit mate?" He asked in an all too light tone. Hermione's head jerked back and Harry shook his head. Neville simply paused awkwardly, not sure what to do. Their bushy haired friend chewed her lip nervously for a moment before nodding her head and smiling at the both of them before guiding Neville away back to the dorms. Ron turned to face him, ears pink-tinged from the anger Harry knew he'd be feeling.

"Look, I know I should have warned you I was inviting Zabini, but-"

"Warned me? Why are you the only one who gets a say in who comes and who doesn't? We were keeping this a secret until you suddenly decide to invite a Slytherin of all bloody people. Have you gone _mad,_ Harry _? A Slytherin!"_

Harry sighed. "You're right, Ron. It wasn't right for me to invite someone new without talking to the rest of you about it first - we're a team, and none of us are in charge. If I can admit that, can you at least admit that treating Zabini like he's going to murder us in our sleep the second we give him half a chance, might just be a mistake?"

"Look Harry, I get what you're trying to do, but a Slytherin just isn't a good idea. I'm not stupid enough to think they're all Death Eaters, but they will put what they want ahead of anybody else every time - that's what a Slytherin _is._ You can't trust them, Harry. This is going to backfire, and I won't sit back and watch you be hurt like that."

Ron looked implacable at that, and Harry knew he wouldn't back down from this. "I think it's insane to assume you know a person by what house they're sorted into, but I get you're trying to be a good friend, in your own way." His left hand rubbed his eyes tiredly beneath his glasses, before he returned Ron's look with a sad one of his own. "But if you can't be with me on this mate, I need you to at least promise to be civil to Zabini. Not a friend, I'm not asking for you to trust him - just to be civil. This is too important to be ruined by stupid house rivalries."

Ron's eyes narrowed, and the red of his ears spread to his cheeks in a sign that his temper was starting to fray, which let Harry know that the Weasley had understood the subtext.

"Fine. I'll be civil to your new friend." Ron ground out, before marching past him towards bed.

He and Ron had been through a lot in the last few years, and Harry truly considered the Weasley a brother to him. For the first time though, Harry felt as if a wedge had been driven between them, if only the thin end. He knew he wasn't wrong - Blaise was a good person, and would make a solid addition to their group, Slytherin or not. He just hoped that Ron's friendship wasn't the price he'd have to pay for doing what he thought was the right thing.

* * *

Between classes, reading and the extra practice Harry had committed himself to; the conversation with Ron after Zabini joined their group had been the last conversation he'd had with his best friend in the few days between then and the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament competitors. In previous disagreements, this was their general pattern anyway. A few days were allowed to pass, and tempers were given a chance to simmer before the one in the wrong approached the other for a pick-up game of Quidditch or wizard's chess - and nothing else needed to be said.

Ron gave him a terse nod as he sat - not quite time for that game of wizard's chess then - and Hermione greeted him with a smile and an update on how her Arithmancy classes were going. As she spoke, he gazed around the room taking in the excited hubbub that had gripped the Great Hall, before the centerpiece of the occasion stole his attention.

The Triwizard Cup sat on a stone pedastal where Dumbledore would normally stand to make his speeches. It sat silver and angular, finely crafted Harry assumed by some impressive magic, burning a bright and effervescent blue. Harry couldn't help but admire the thing, but was infinitely glad that he had nothing to do with it.

Finally, the entire student body of all three participating school had arrived in the Great Hall which somehow always managed to feel full enough to feel lively and busy, but never so full you began to feel cramped and squeezed in. Dumbledore stood, and the room fell silent as if the man had cast a spell though Harry knew he had done no such thing.

"It is my pleasure to announce that it is finally time to draw our three competitors names from the Goblet of Fire." The object in question seemed to burn suddenly even more brightly, and a low murmur of excitement rumbled round the hall. He felt himself tensing slightly despite himself. Dumbledore gave a wave of his hand, and the torch lights around the room extinguished themselves leaving only the light from the Goblet. It's bathing the room reminded Harry of the moon illuminating the depths of the Forbidden Forest. Every movement in the roomed now a twisting shadow cast from flickering, supernatural blue light.

Harry began to grind his teeth.

"Our first competitor is..." The whole room seemed to wait without breath, and suddenly a column of fire shot from the Goblet towards the charmed ceiling eliciting a gasp from those watching and fully lighting the room for just a moment. The fire faded, and Dumbledore plucked a blacked piece of parchment from the air. "Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang." Cheers erupted through the room as the highly popular Krum was guided to an antechamber attached to the Great Hall. Krum was a popular choice in both Durmstrang and Hogwarts, thanks to his status as an international Quidditch star.

The tension never left Harry's body, even when Fleur Delacour was named as Beauxbaton's champion in the same manner. It was only when the third column of luminescent azure flame announced Cedric Diggory as Hogwarts' champion did he truly relax, basking in the fact that this was one major event he didn't have to be involved in.

A fourth column of fire reached for the charmed sky in the ceiling and burned away the relief he had been feeling, leaving only blackened, resigned despair. Dumbledore, bewildered as any of them read the piece of paper that floated from the ceiling and looked directly at him, questioning, and entirely absent of any grandfatherly twinkle.

"The fourth champion is Harry Potter of Hogwarts."

Silence reigned. Or, perhaps it didn't - he never would be able to remember when looking back. The only thing he registered from that moment, was the agonising look of pure, stunned _betrayal_ written across Ron's face.


	9. Fallout

**!**

* * *

 _Stand Tall_

 _Chapter IX_

 _Fallout_

* * *

Time seemed to move at a slower rate as Harry shuffled, bemused from the Great Hall to the champion's antechamber. He barely noticed the questions from Madame Maxine and Karkaroff, barely noticed the ferocious whispers that erupted at the same time as his name did. All he could see in his mind's eye was the hurt written all over Ron's face. All he could think about was the worry deep in the back of his mind that with their friendship already strained, it might not survive Ron believing he had put his name in the Goblet without him.

"Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire, Harry?"

Dumbledore's voice shook him from his thoughts and brought him to the present with a start. Suddenly, Harry felt the stares of the other champions and the three headmasters - the foreign contingent seething. McGonagall too was there, expression unreadable and Snape was no longer bothering to hold back his contempt for Harry.

"Of _course_ he did Headmaster," the Potions professor spoke quietly, but Harry could hear the bitter frost regardless. "I see that you have found yet another way to display your utter contempt for any kind of authority, Potter."

Harry felt himself flush heavily, heat burning at his cheeks indignantly, but a look from Dumbledore both stopped Snape cold, and eased Harry's rising temper.

He was close to losing his cool he knew. Ron's face, being dragged into this situation against his will and Snape's bullshit were all pushing him towards a tipping point where he might do or say something he wouldn't be able to take back. He couldn't let Maxine and Karkaroff see him blow his top like a child. He _wouldn't._

"The question if you will, Harry."

He clenched his fists tightly, "I didn't put my name in Professor Dumbledore, I don't want to be anywhere near this tournament." Snape scoffed, but Dumbledore merely stared straight into his eyes, the man's own oddly absent of their usual twinkle. Now, they were a stormy blue and seemed to swirl and shift oddly, the subtle movement of colour only visible when Harry wasn't trying to see it.

Dumbledore stood up straight and tucked his wispy beard back into his leather belt absently.

"Indeed you didn't - and yet you must compete nonetheless."

His proclamation began another explosive round of protestations and accusations both at him and Dumbledore now, and Harry felt his hackles rise again until McGonagall placed a hand softly on his shoulder and glanced down at him out of the corner of her eye. Her face held no hint of a smile, only her usual implacable sternness, but Harry felt warmth surge through him nonetheless.

Suddenly, the room was cast into silence as Mad-Eye Moody burst through the doors and limped into the room, his fake eye swiveling this way and that, only amplifying the man's unsettling aura.

"Imagine the Headmasters of the three most prestigious schools bickering like leprachauns with only a single knut between 'em. Makes you wonder how seriously you should take their words, eh lad? He regarded Harry with a scar-filled grin that looked quite alien on that face before rounding once again on the others in the room.

"Are all of you so addled with age that you reckon a boy barely into his fourth year could crack the defenses myself and Albus bloody Dumbledore cast to prevent just such a thing? If the age-line was the only trick in our repertoire, maybe but..." His grin grew shark-like. "They don't call me paranoid for no reason now."

Moody took a quick sip from his flask, wincing at the taste of whatever spirit he had in there and it was then that Harry noticed Madame Maxine gesticulating furiously. _Has he silenced them? Is he insane?!_

 _"_ A much better question is _why would somebody put The-Boy-Who-Lived's name in the Goblet of Fire?_ It can only have been an adult to cast a confundus that powerful - so what's the motive?"

"Well put Alastor." Dumbledore added gravely, the silencing spell surreptitiously broken by the older wizard. "It is clear that, though their motives are unclear, somebody has entered Harry Potter in the competition against his will, which presents us with a problem." Now Dumbledore's eyes were apologetic as he turned to Harry himself.

"The magic that rules the Goblet is centuries old. One's name being drawn represents a binding magical contract, forcing one to compete or else potentially lose one's magic. Whether he wanted this or not, Harry has very little choice but to enter the Triwizard Tournament."

"Is there truly nothing that can be done?" Madame Maxine's thick French accent questioned begrudgingly. At Dumbledore's shake of the head, she sighed heavily. "Then I must stipulate that a victory for Harry Potter must not stipulate a victory for Hogwarts, to prevent the unfair advantage of one school having a second competitor."

"Agreed." Karkaroff cut in, his expression and tone giving away his anger at this turn of events. "Or else Durmstrang and Beauxbaton should be able to enter a second competitor to match that of Hogwarts."

This sparked another round of heated debate among the adults and Harry found himself inching away from the discussion to prevent him from being drawn in to it again. The other competitors had also kept themselves out of it, but now Harry was closer to being with them he could catch a glimpse of the trio. Cedric looked somewhere between hurt and angry, and Harry felt his heart sink even further. Diggory was one of the more reasonable members of the school population, and his house was generally pretty amicable with Harry to boot. If Cedric was angry, his house would be even moreso - God only knew what the rest of the school would be like.

Krum looked largely indifferent as he chatted with Fleur Delacour, but as soon as he caught Harry looking he gave him a measuring look before turning back to the French witch. Fleur on the other hand was the very picture of passionate anger, arms gesturing and voice hissing low.

"...And now they expect us to compete against this little _boy_! It's an outrage... Utterly ridiculous! _" 'Little boy'_ had been hissed with particular aggression and accompanied by a violent gesture at him, and Harry felt his fists clench again.

He moved across to Cedric cautiously. "Look Cedric, I didn't put my name in the Goblet - I don't want to compete - especially if it means taking something away from you I-"

"Sure, Harry." Cedric interrupted tightly, barely even looking at him as he spoke. "I believe you - especially if Dumbledore does - it's just... This is hard to take right now, okay? Can you just- Please can we not talk right now, Harry? Please?"

Harry simply nodded and moved away, finding a space along the back wall to stand, angry and alone as the adults decided how the tournament Harry wanted no part of was to proceed.

* * *

 _Two Days Later_

Hermione walked briskly through shadowy corridors, senses constantly straining for any sign of patrol or teacher this close to out of hours. However much she tried to focus on her surroundings though, her attention kept wandering inwards to the events of the past several days.

Hogwarts, both predictably and pathetically in Hermione's opinion, had jumped to attack Harry in a laughably childish way. Where he wasn't meant with being ignored and ostracized, he was met with open disdain. The Hufflepuff's were particularly bad, and seemed to have utterly disregarded their house's supposed predilection for loyalty.

What Hermione _hadn't anticipated was Ron Weasley's_ reaction, though in hindsight perhaps she should have. Harry had returned from the choosing ceremony to looking, tired, resigned and utterly furious all at once but Ron had been seething. She had thought it obvious that Harry hadn't put his own name in the Goblet - especially without having told them. Ron though, perhaps fueled by their ongoing disagreement was convinced otherwise, and was understandably devastated at the perceived betrayal.

Of course, he was barking so far up the wrong tree Hermione thought he was probably in an entirely different forest.

That was neither here nor there though, as when Harry arrived, it took only a few scathing comments from his best friend before he lost the tight grip he had obviously been keeping on his emotions until then. If Hermione wasn't so hurt by the division that had resulted between her only two real friends, she would have agreed with Lavender that the resultant argument between the two was _e_ pic.

Needless to say, both had said some less than pleasant things and had gone too far. In the end, it was a scathing reprimand from Alicia Spinnet of all people that had both heading to bed without things devolving further. The damage had been done though, and now the two weren't speaking with Hermione painfully being caught between the two.

Ron was clearly in the wrong about Harry, and likewise Harry had responded in a manner that meant he shared the blame with the Weasley but neither were willing to budge. Now, Hermione had to choose which friend to spend her time with and try and balance the emotions of both.

That said, the treatment of Harry by the school was beyond the pale and Harry _needed_ his friends more than ever. That Ron was part of the problem she suspected hurt Harry more than he'd ever let on. She ducked quietly into a darkened classroom - charms, she thought - as a pair Hufflepuff prefects ambled past, wands lit by the l _umos_ spell. No comment had been made to students, but it was clear that patrols around the school at night had increased since Daisy Betteridge had been attacked.

The girl had been just fine after a night with Madame Pomfrey - she had apparently been found quick enough that whatever spell had been cast was counterable with few side-effects. _Still_ she thought, as she finally arrived at tonight's chosen destination _, with everything going on with the Tournament, Luna and even Voldemort, it's jut one more thing to worry about this year._

Hermione opened the door carefully, not wanting to make any more noise than she had to before she had cast her silencing charms, and entered. Harry and Neville were talking quietly, and Hermione shot them a bright smile, which only faltered slightly when she realised that Ron wasn't with them. Harry smiled back though, only slightly forced, and the pair got to work charming the room to try and avoid detection whilst Neville watched and asked the occasional question about the magic they were using.

Finally, Harry pinned the Marauders Map on the wall just as Zabini arrived, nodded respectfully to the room and sat down to wait for their practice to start. The Map had been Harry's contribution to the protection on the room a few sessions ago. It was a rather brilliant idea and already had they managed to leave prior to an interruption from a patrolling Filch because Neville had seen him coming whilst practicing his disarming charm.

Before long, spells were flying. Harry, much like an actual teacher had broken down the room based on what they needed to work on. Hermione and Harry were practicing the shield charm, Blaise Zabini his disarming charm and Neville was working on a small list of offensive curses now that his disarming charm could take Harry's wand. Admittedly, Harry needed to let Neville hit him for that to ever happen but these things took time.

After about half an hour of proper work, for perhaps the first time since he had arrived, Blaise Zabini's voice cut across the noise of their spellwork. "Snape is coming."

Hermione felt anxiety grip her, it was too soon for them to be stopped in this - it was doing them too much good.

"How much time do we have, Blaise?" Harry was striding across the room, expression grim but determined.

"Less than two minutes. I saw him leave his office and decided to keep an eye." Zabini looked Harry dead in the eyes, dark and serious. "Potter, he's carved a path straight for us. He _knew_ we would be here."

Hermione recognised the look that came across Harry's face at that - she likely wore it too. Despite their disagreement, despite their anger at each other - she had convinced Harry to carry on inviting Ron, this was after all, too important to stop.

He was the only one who knew where they would be. And he had chosen the absolute worst person to tell.

Harry managed to push back whatever he was feeling before she did. "Looks as though he's choosing a route that will cut us off from Gryffindor Tower if we try and go there directly." He forced a grin. "Lucky for us we've done this kind of thing before. Hermione, kill the wards with me; Blaise and Neville, you sort the room - leave no proof that someone was here."

They were in motion, hurriedly moving tables and dispelling the various wards and charms in the room before Harry ushered them into the corridors, eyes scanning the Marauders Map furiously.

"Prefect patrols cut us off from the Tower no matter which way we go right now, and there's too many of us to use the cloak." Blaise twitched in surprise at that, but made no efforts to make comment as Harry continued. "For now we head to the east tower and cut round to the dungeons first before Snape gets back - that way Blaise doesn't get cut off. Then we'll use the cloak and map from there to dodge the good Professor and whoever else might be in our way - got it?" They nodded, but Harry was already looking to the opposite end of the corrider, where a lamplight had started to glow from around the corner.

"Move!" He hissed, and they ran quietly into the darkened halls as far and as quickly away from Professor Snape as they could manage.

* * *

Harry scowled as a scrunched up piece of paper collided with the back of his head for the second time. A group of third year Hufflepuff's had taken umbrage to his presence in the library. Hogwarts as a whole it seemed took umbrage with it since his name had come out of the Goblet. Only the closest to him believed his side of the story, and even then Ron thought he had lied.

The school's disdain he could have coped with - he had done before after all - but Ron abandoning him coupled with his going to Snape about their defense practices sent a hot wave of fresh anger every time he thought about it. He understood Ron's hurt and why he hadn't reacted well to Harry being in the Triwizard Tournament, he understood that he himself had reacted badly in turn. He was, even now, sorry for what he had said in the Tower that evening.

But the idea that Ron could betray them all over it, to _Snape_ of all people, was near enough irredeemable in his eyes.

As though the thought of him and been a summoning charm, Ron strode into the Library laughing all too loudly, Dean and Seamus in tow. The 'Puffs seemed to sense oncoming drama and suddenly their snide comments whispered just loudly enough that he knew he was supposed to have heard them died down. Ron swept the room for somewhere to sit, and his eyes found Harry's and his expression slipped straight from near laughter to ugly scowl.

"Harry." Ron grunted, and Harry felt his hackles rise, but before he could reply Ron raised his voice loud enough for the nearby Hufflepuffs to hear. "Head got too big for even Hermione and Neville to bear it anymore."

Harry ground his teeth through the laughter of everyone that had heard, and cut straight to what was really making him seethe. The jibe cut, largely because it had come from somebody he had considered like family, but the betrayal was what had really hurt.

"Of all the low things you could have done Ron, you filched on us to _Snape?!"_ He hissed, causing Ron's ears to grow a hot red.

"You have a Slytherin going to your stupid practices and you think _I_ went to Snape? Are you mental?" Ron half shouted, drawing the hawk-like attention of Pince from behind her mahogany desk.

"Blaise was the only reason we made it out with any warning, he saw Snape com-"

"Only because he bloody well knew he'd be coming you mor-"

"Out of my library this instant!" Pince's shriek tore through their argument like old parchment, and she marched the four of them out without so much as a chance to speak or explain themselves. "That will be 20 points from Gryffindor - if I hear any more arguing, that will be double." She hissed, and marched right back to the library without a further word.

Dean looked uncomfortable, but Seamus managed to grind out a "Nice one, Potter." Before half dragging Ron away from continuing their argument.

Harry was left standing there, seething with anger without any release for it and face reddened, as the whispers of the students in the corridor echoed like thunder in his ears.

* * *

It was clear and bright outside but cold enough that most were kept indoors when Saturday came. Harry, Hermione and Neville though had opted for the colder temperatures over the colder atmosphere inside. In actuality, things weren't as bad as Harry had feared initially. He was given short shrift from most outside of Gryffindor but Harry had feared that his and Ron's disagreement would have the same effect within the House. By and large though, those that had been acquainted with Harry stood by him. Neville had become a firm friend - particularly in Ron's absence, and his Quidditch team mates had formed a core of support that seemed to have kept him in the favour of the majority of the house.

Of course, Ron was firmly against him and he and Seamus had buddied up remarkably quickly, to the point where Harry couldn't help but wonder if he had offended Seamus without realising at some point. Poor Dean seemed most troubled by this development. He seemed to believe Harry but his best friend being Seamus meant that he was never likely to openly have his back. Harry understood. They were friendly enough with each other, but never seemed to cross that boundary to actually being friends. Whether it was the right thing to do or not, he could hardly expect Dean to cast aside his strongest friendship for him.

Either way, a walk outside in the grounds seemed to be a perfect way to clear his head. There was more freedom out here, he felt as though he could go where and as far as he liked. The forbidden forest called to the part of him that craved adventure and excitement, and the Quidditch pitch would forever be associated with the unadulterated joy that was flying. He and his two friends chatted quietly as they strolled about a whole range of unimportant topic - homework, the coming Hogsmeade visit and any other easy-going distraction from the stress of the castle they could find.

Hagrid's hut lay on the distance, thick grey fire-smoke drifting lazily from the chimney into the crisp air and Harry considered suggesting a visit when Hermione gave him a nudge.

"Look over there, it's Luna and Ginny."

Harry followed Hermione's pointing finger and spotted them sat down underneath a tree, sprawled across a ruby tartan picnic blanket. Without thinking, he started to make a beeline for the pair, who looked up as they drew close.

"Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom - take a seat. Care for some tea?" Luna wafted her arm to their picnic blanket, on top of which sat some un-eaten snacks obviously kept from the lunch trolley on the train, and a hideous blue floral tea set that Harry was positive his Aunt Petunia would have _loved._

He was immediately thrown off-kilter by how straightforward Luna seemed, yet not at all really 'present' in the conversation. Haltingly he sat and offered a shaky, "Sure Luna."

The others sat with him and Luna smiled primly, taking the teapot and pouring him a cup - only, nothing at all came out.

"Erm, Luna-"

"Tea is just the thing for this kind of weather, don't you think Harry? Warms the blood." She turned to each of the three of them in turn and with the utmost care poured them a cup of air. "We were just having a bit of a cheer-up picnic you see." She glanced at Ginny. "Oh Ginny, you should have said that the nargles had drunk yours." Ginny gave Luna a soft, grateful smile and took her imaginary tea in both hands as though it was actually warming her.

Hermione looked as though she was bursting to speak, and Harry shot her a warning glance before looking at Neville, who was quietly thanking Luna for his tea. Affection and respect for the Longbottom surged through him and he immediately felt ashamed when the thought of _Ron wouldn't have had the courage to do that_ drifted through his mind. He didn't have much experience in having friends besides Ron and Hermione, but he knew making comparisons like that wasn't fair on either Ron or Neville.

He turned his attention back to the two girls they had joined. Something he knew wasn't right here. Ginny had barely spoken a word, and besides their uncomfortable first meeting and her crush on him, he knew that was fully out of character. She looked tired he realised, dark rings were under her eyes and her expression was tightly drawn like it was a fight simply to stay sitting upright. Something about the definition of her cheekbones made Harry wonder if she had been eating properly, though he couldn't say what had made him think it.

She didn't look well in the slightest, and with Luna now occupying the attentions of Neville and Hermione, Harry took the opportunity presented to him.

"Ginny, is everything okay?" She smiled at him, and was about to answer when Harry stopped her. Enough people had asked him if he was okay when he wasn't all too eager to be honest that he knew when he was about to be placated. He knew a fake smile when he saw one too. "It's just that I was in the Chamber too, Ginny - I still have nightmares about it even now. I feel guilty enough over not helping you before we wound up down there. I'd hate to not have helped when I could have if something's bothering you now."

Ginny's eyes had widened when he mentioned nightmares and he knew he was on the mark. "You have nightmares about it too?" She whispered, aghast.

He nodded. "Yeah. The snake, Riddle even the bloody chamber itself. I'd probably be a little bit worried if that whole thing _didn't_ give me nightmares to be honest. You want to talk about it? I could tell you about mine first?" He asked the question as gently as he could, keen for her to accept his offer.

She looked at him for a moment, as though seeing him for the first time but just as Harry's hopes of being able to help were rising, her face clouded over suddenly as though a particularly nasty thought had just come to her.

"Why are you so interested?" She started sadly, before frowning. "You never cared before."

Harry's mouth dropped in surprise, but before he could even try and process what she had just said, Ginny seemed to snap herself out of whatever had come over her.

"I'm so sorry, that was so uncalled for!" She rushed out, horrified. "You were just being nice, and I was so rude... It's just with all the nightmares, I've not had much sleep and can't seem to stop..." Ginny shook herself and offered Harry a tired smile. "Your offer was really kind Harry, if it gets bad, I might just take you up on it."

Harry smiled back, mollified. "Don't worry about it Ginny, you of all people know I couldn't judge anybody for losing their temper - especially when your brother is involved."

"In your defense Harry, my brother can be an absolute prat."

They both laughed at the truth in that, and their conversation turned to lighter topics, the youngest Weasley considerably brighter than before. It was an hour before they left and as they did so, Luna managed to catch his eye, dreamy smile replaced for only a moment by gratitude.

As the trio walked back to the castle to warm up though, the mood of Neville and Hermione darkened. At Harry's questioning look, Neville shrugged his shoulders.

"Luna's had more of her stuff taken. All her socks, a few robes - a necklace." Neville was unmistakably angry, an emotion Harry had never really associated with the shy boy before and not for the first time he saw a glimpse of Neville's quiet strength. "It was a present from her mother - she... She died, Harry."

And just like that, Harry shared his anger and understood it, and also felt the kinship he shared with Luna Lovegood soar though she would never know it. They had all lost, the three of them and were all victims of loneliness and of the cowardice of others.

Hot blood coursed through his veins as he tried to suppress his mounting fury. "We'll get them back for this Neville, whoever it is that is doing this to her, we'll get them back." He ignored Hermione's sharp look of concern in favour of Neville's firm nod, his face full to the brim with his own righteous anger.

It was a quality Neville had had within him from the start - like Harry, he could never turn himself away from what he felt was right, no matter his own feelings - and once more Harry had to fight the urge to compare him to Ron, who in his opinion had done just that.

* * *

Cho Chang couldn't resist the slight smirk as she stuffed the cork and string atrocity behind a sleepily grumbling portrait and attached it to the wall with a sticking charm. She had always been a dab hand at Runes, and her research had led her down roads not strictly endorsed by the Hogwarts curriculum. Not dangerous of course, but definitely unpleasant. And, depending on the victim, _definitely_ hilarious.

She wasn't sure at what point her dislike of Luna Lovegood had become _this,_ and she most certainly had never behaved this way in the past with anybody else. Something about the girl infuriated her though, and despite her insisting it was because she didn't fit in or that she was a little strange, Cho had never quite been able to put her finger on just what it was that had begun Ravenclaw house's campaign of misery against Luna.

Loony, since the end of their last year, just seemed to make her _angry._

Small revenges such as these were the kindest of suggestions when they discussed what to do about the girl, but they all knew that no matter how much they wanted her gone, small revenges were the most that they could do without risking grave punishments. And so the hid her things, teased her and ignored her in the same breath and all the while the cow just walked around with that hideous vacant smile.

A scuffle from behind made her jerk around, leaving the rune for a vomiting trap half-carved. She strained her eyes to see in the gloomy corridor so close to the cold of the junction, but all see saw was unmoving darkness so she turned back to her work. Whoever tried to move the painting would vomit heavily until someone applied the counter - a very tricky thing to do for a third year whilst wretching - and break out in itchy spots and rashes in waves over the course of several weeks. The rashes would fade of course, but as far as she knew there was no counter, so Loony would just have to put up with it until they did.

She had just about finished her carving when a tap on her shoulder almost made her jump cleanly out of her own skin. She span to face the person and her eyes widened in shock as she caught only a glimpse of ethereal glittering silver.

That sparkling silver glow was the only thing that she could still see, even as the darkness took her.


	10. The Weighing of the Wands

**!**

* * *

 _Stand Tall_

 _Chapter X_

 _The Weighing of the Wands_

* * *

 _One week later_

Blaise, to the casual observer seemed to be batting away Neville spells with graceful ease, gliding across their practice space in stark contrast to Neville's gunfire-like aggression. To those within their group though, it was clear that Blaise was straining to keep out of Neville's way and struggling to keep himself in the duel. There was a light film of sweat on his forehead and his eyes were narrowed in fierce concentration as he dodged and returned fire as best he could.

It was to Neville's credit that if they two had stuck to the traditional wizarding approach to dueling of standing opposite each other and firing off spells until one of the two fell, Blaise would have lost long before now.

Blaise had a more varied repertoire for sure but Neville had approached their practice sessions with a certain grim determination that had Harry in awe and in some ways, having to strain himself to match Neville's level of effort. Neville knew few spells, but those he did know he was incredibly proficient in and he was relentless in duels. He rarely let up and couldn't be tired out of a duel in the same way that Hermione or to a lesser extent, Blaise could be.

He was however wildly inconsistent in terms of power output regardless of how well practised the spells he knew were, which as far as Harry and Hermione understood shouldn't be right. Sometimes Neville seemed to be able to come close to matching the power in Harry's spells, blowing through Hermione's practiced _protego_ as though it were made of paper. Other times though, Neville struggled to make you take more than a single step back when he caught you with a knock-back jinx. It was something that puzzled all of them and Hermione had even added it to her little list of things that they as a group wanted to learn about and research.

Blaise had improved in his own way, both expanding his arsenal of spells to match their own - the group as a whole had progressed well with learning the difficult shield charm, even Neville who took a little longer to learn spells than the rest had started to produce them with a degree of regularity - as well as taking to their practice of movement whilst dueling. He was a good match to both Hermione and Neville, though lost to the former more often than winning and lost to Harry even more than that.

Hermione on the other hand had been working mostly on adding power to her spells as she learned new ones with even more ease than Harry himself managed. She had added a considerable punch to her spells, however. If Harry let her catch him with a disarming charm or worse he went to bed with some serious bruises, something he was sure they all did, though no-one complained. Once Harry had gotten his shield charm down though, she still struggled to force her way past it and Harry suspected that the fact that Neville on one occasion had managed to blow through it with a stunner and claim his only win yet against Harry still rankled.

Harry glanced at the map pinned to the wall to prevent any interruptions and frowned at the number of teachers patrolling the halls. Cho Chang, an older Ravenclaw had been attacked and the school had no choice but to become more open about what was happening. Students were being interviewed - starting with those in Ravenclaw who had been close to Cho and Dumbledore had addressed it during breakfast the next morning, making a plea for information.

Cho herself was still in the hospital wing though awake - apparently whatever she had been hit with had been bad enough to keep her unconscious for several days and had caused her some serious pain - though Dumbledore was careful to stress that no lasting damage had been caused. People were nervous though and far more suspicious, much as they had been when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. At least this time, _he_ wasn't suspected by half the school as being behind everything - though he'd wager that at least a few thought that he was.

If nothing else, it made setting up and getting to their practices even more difficult than they were already with all the extra patrolling teachers and prefects.

It certainly seemed as though everything outside of these little sessions was getting worse and spiraling out of control. The tournament, Voldemort, Luna and now these attacks; it felt as though he was being bludgeoned by events and it was all he could do not to get swept away with everything happening. Just having to compete in the tournament itself was bloody overwhelming if he could manage to stop thinking about the ever-present spectre of Voldemort that seemed to be forever lingering over Harry since he had first encountered the Dark Lord at the end of First Year.

As if to remind him that he wasn't by himself, Neville finally caught Blaise with a leg-locker and destroyed the Slytherin's illusion of grace by sending him staggering to the floor allowing him to put Blaise in a full body bind and finish the duel for good. Both boys, sweaty and bruised moved to join himself and Hermione after an amicable handshake.

"How are we doing for time, Harry? I don't know about Zabini but I could do with a breather before we even think about heading back to the common rooms." Neville asked, smiling with pride but panting slightly. Blaise said nothing but seemed equally if not more knackered than his opponent was.

"McGonagall, Snape and Sinistra are all in this part of the castle but none have come close yet - we probably have a little while." Harry and Hermione had already dueled, Harry managing to catch Hermione with a stunning spell, and they had all spent a good few hours before that practicing stunners and shields.

"Thank Merlin." Blaise muttered to no-one in particular and Harry though that Neville had every right to be proud of getting the Slytherin to drop his too cool persona even slightly. "Do we have a plan for the next session, Potter?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "We seem to be grasping stunners and and shields fairly confidently, and have a pretty good grasp of some entry level curses and jinxes so I was thinking we would just keep expanding our knowledge of dueling spells and start working them into our casting. The Reductor Curse is probably the next logical step - as long as we make sure we're not using it in our practice duels it should be fine to learn."

"Perfect. Plus it should give you a little more ammunition for the tournament. I've been improving Potter, would be a shame to lose you to a tournament you didn't even want to be in." Harry appreciated the subtle even if unintentional reminder that Blaise had believed that he didn't enter himself in the tournament, though he was one of very few.

"Say," Neville broke into the conversation again, looking admittedly sheepish as he did so. "Has anybody heard anything about the attacks? As in, who is behind it?" Neville's hands wrestled anxiously as he spoke. "D'you think it has something to do with Vo- _You-Know-Who's_ followers?"

Harry frowned. Even he could pick up the increased tension in the room. Blaise, Hermione and Neville were all looking at him and suddenly Harry realised that Neville had only opened the question out to the room as a roundabout way of asking _him._ Worse still, the others were all looking to him to speak first as though he would know - or at least be able to make the best guess.

"I honestly don't know, Neville. Voldemort is definitely on the move but whether these attacks are linked is an entirely different kettle of fish." He ignored the confusion of the two wizard raised people in the room - they'd figure it out. "I think it's probably more likely to be connected to whatever is going on in Ravenclaw. From what we know bullying is pretty rife with Luna being the prime target." He sighed heavily, running his fingers through sweaty black hair.

"If I didn't _know_ Luna, I'd say she were the prime suspect - both girls were known to have targeted her according to Kevin Entwhistle." Hermione quirked an eyebrow and he shrugged. "I spoke to him again and he offered to keep an eye on things for me just in case I could do something to help. Apparently Cho Chang has taken up the mantle and joined in with the bullying last year despite initially trying to help Luna. Daisy was horrible from the start from what I can tell."

Blaise tapped his chin thoughtfully and Neville's face was caught halfway between anger and sadness. Hermione was scowling viciously - she never managed to cope with perceived injustice particularly well.

"It might not be much Potter," Blaise began seriously, "but would you like me to ask some questions among the people who tend to have their fingers in these sorts of things?"

"For free?" Harry blurted out in surprise before he could even stop himself. Blaise looked at him with an unreadable expression for a moment before shaking his head ruefully.

"You don't even realise what it is you're doing here, do you?" Blaise pressed on through Harry's confusion. "It doesn't matter. You've invited me into your group freely and defended me from slander - even from your best friends. I may be a Slytherin - I have my ambitions and don't like to compromise them, but to ignore what you've done for me would be something that I will not abide. If I am to be a member of your group, then I must be willing to do what any other member would do and contribute what I can to achieve that group's aims."

"You want to help Luna, too?"

"Merlin knows you can be thick-headed sometimes Potter. I'm saying that I am willing to work towards what the group and its leader want. What _you_ want."

 _Leader? Me? ...What?_ He turned to Hermione for support in protest at the moniker but she just smirked knowingly.

"You _are_ the leader of whatever we are, Harry." Neville said quietly. _"_ I know you said this group was just to practice defence, but we all know _why_ that's so important and want to be on your side in it. I believe you when you say he's coming back and I want to _fight."_

Harry gulped. This was not at all what he had intended when he had invited Neville and Blaise to their little group, nor Ron and Hermione for that matter. It was just supposed to be the three of them caught up with Death Eaters and Voldemort. Harry suddenly thought of what Blaise would be sacrificing, what he would be risking if he stuck by Harry when Voldemort actually returned. Him being a Slytherin it would be incredibly dangerous for him to be involved with him.

With any luck, it would be some time before that happened - though Harry suspected his luck would hold true, and the Dark Lord would be returning to full strength sooner rather than later. Something in his gut told him it would be even sooner than he feared.

"Blaise... I won't tell you to do it, I'm not in charge of anyone." Reluctantly, he continued. "Any information you can find that might help though, we can't afford to ignore if we want to help stop these attacks."

Blaise nodded firmly. "I'll get right on it, _captain."_ Whatever he had said before, the mocking in Blaise's voice burned in his ears.

""Piss off, Zabini." Harry muttered back, before glancing back at the map. "Let's get moving before Snape finds us and manages to decide the _we're_ the ones attacking people."

* * *

The first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, on a snow-covered mid-November morning, rolled around with alarming speed. In two days time, Harry had been informed during a Potions session, he would be required to take part in 'the weighing of the wands' as the first part of his competing in the Triwizard Tournament. It was an old ceremony where the competitor's wands were examined for cheating, to make sure they were in working order and as part of the pomp and circumstance of it all. They would all be there, and reporters too.

The thought of the latter made Harry want to run for the hills.

Hermione would be waiting for him at the Three Broomsticks, where Neville and Blaise would be joining them a little later on. For now though, he was enjoying the stroll down the winding lane that led from the school to the village, snow gently drifting from above and dancing across his vision merrily. He had delayed his departure on purpose, avoiding the crowds and snide comments and was free to revel in the peace - if only for a moment.

He twitched. A bark sounded in the distance. Two more followed and Harry paused to glance around. He could see the shrieking shack on the hillock off to the right, and another bark sounded right from there. Harry strained his eyes, and suddenly saw the swish of a shaggy black tail. A familiar, Dogfatherly tail. Every instinct in him screamed to shout his Godfather's name, either in joy or worry, but he held it back.

"Padfoot!" He gasped out, before bursting into a run towards the shack where he had first properly met his Godfather. The large black dog disappeared through the door and he followed it at a sprint, colliding with the outstretched arms of Sirius Black.

"Morning, Harry." The smirk was crystal clear in the man's voice, though Harry could not see his face. Abruptly, Harry pulled back from their embrace and peered up to examine his Godfather. The difference in him since he had last seen him made him almost unrecognisable. He had a neatly trimmed beard and wavy brown hair that went to his shoulders. Around his shoulders was a rich brown fur cloak that made the man look every inch a wealthy, powerful wizard.

Most importantly to Harry though, the too-gaunt cheeks, sallow skin and aura of oppression seemed to be missing. Sirius looked about twenty years younger, with bright eyes that seemed to dance with delight at the sight of him.

"Hello, Harry." His head kerked to the side. Remus Lupin, looking ragged and tired but content, sat comfortably in a beaten old armchair. A gentle smile touched his weathered face, and Harry felt slightly embarrassed that he hadn't realised somebody else was there. He shook it off.

"It's good to see you Professor."

"Not anymore I'm not Harry, I've already told you. Are you meeting anybody in Hogsmeade, Harry? I'll let them know you'll be predisposed for a while and give you and Sirius time to catch up."

He let the man know about Hermione and thanked him as he left to go and find her, before turning back to his Godfather.

"You look so much better, Sirius - it's unreal!" He said excitedly, and Sirius smiled.

"Physically, I'm much better. It's what's inside that needs healing now, Azkaban leaves it's mark on everybody that spends time there." Sirius looked on the edge of letting his mood dwindle but pushed on before it could. "That will take time, but for now, it feels good to be out and about and fit as a Hippogriff - even if I do have to keep myself hidden."

He gestured for Harry to sit with him on a sofa, and Harry sat.

"Now, I've gotten part of it from your letters but it sounds as though something's going down at Hogwarts this year - it's why myself and Moony came. Let's hear it kid, and see what we can do to help."

Harry wanted to protest at that. Insist that Sirius not put himself in danger for this - but he didn't. He spoke. He told Sirius about his studies, about their defence group practices and about Ron and Hermione. He told Sirius about Luna, the attacks and about the Tournament. And, like no other adult before him, Sirius listened, _truly listened_ to what he had to say. Nodding, scowling and even cursing in all the right places.

But not interjecting, or interrupting - not until Harry was done and had gotten everything off his chest. Even the anger on the man's face at Ron's betrayal had not warranted an interruption before the end. Partway through, Lupin returned but simply sat to listen too, back in his armchair on the periphery of their conversation.

Finally, Harry was done and Sirius asked some questions for clarification before getting to his feet and beginning to pace restlessly.

"You're really up against it this year, eh Harry?" Worry gave way to a hint of roguish humour that Sirius had only showed faint glimmers of before. "That said, back against the wall really does seem to be your forte - I wouldn't bet against you winning the whole bloody thing.

"Still," he pressed on, still pacing. "There's no need for you to be doing this just you and your friends. You lot have been standing up to adult wizards looking to do you harm for too long without anyone in your corner. You've always done fantastically by yourself Harry but we're here for you now, just like we should have been years since." Sirius gestured to Lupin at 'we're' and the man offered Harry that perpetually exhausted smile, that managed somehow to still be reassuring.

"Now, according to Dumbledore there's no getting you out of the tournament; and whoever put you forward is probably looking for you to get hurt in the proceedings, so more than anything we need to stop _that_ from happening _." Sirius scowled at very thought as he pressed on. "_ Quite frankly Harry, me and Moony have come up short in trying to come up with a way to help you during your tasks but we _do_ have one plan."

Harry looked curiously between his Godfather and Remus - both seemed uncharacteristically serious now.

"What is it?" He asked with only a little bit of trepidation. Perhaps more than any other adults in the world Harry trusted this pair to have his back but putting his future in the hands of other people -particularly adults - always managed to make him uneasy. He had been burned far too many times trusting the other adults in his life to help and have his best interests in mind to ever be completely comfortable doing it.

"To put it bluntly Harry," Remus stared calmly. "Between Sirius, myself and a few willing volunteers that we trust, we grind so much magic and experience into you that most will have to give serious thought to crossing wands with you. If we can't protect you, then you can be certain we'll give you the tools so that you'll have a chance to do it yourself."

Sirius picked up where Remus left. "I won't lie to you Harry, what we have in mind won't be easy. We'll work you until you want to collapse, and for it to work, you'll more than likely have to do some sneaking out of school. If you get caught-"

"I'll do it." Harry cut in firmly, hope and happiness surging through him in equal measure. The faith in him this plan displayed was immense, and it filled him with pride. That they respected him and what he, Ron and Hermione had done since coming to Hogwarts was worth all the hard work and dedication in the world. Even more than that, that they respected him enough to be honest with him that they _couldn't_ protect him meant the world.

Sirius looked at him, their eyes holding a silent conversation, his Godfather searching for any signs of doubt or hesitation.

He found none. Harry might have been feeling like the entire world was against him, like he had no control over the events of the year that just seemed to be spiraling further and further out of control. But now, Sirius and Lupin had managed to give him just an ounce of control back, a sliver of purchase on his own life. He'd be damned if he'd let go of it.

"In that case then, Kid - no time like the present to start. Remus has this place warded to stop anybody finding us here 'at work'." Sirius drew a dark, twisted wand and stood in an easy combat stance that managed to scream danger despite the man's bright eyes and grin. "A practice duel to kick things off - let's see what we're working with here."

Harry gulped and reached into his pocket for his own wand but had to dive to the floor sharply as a vivid purple light rocketed over his head where he had been standing.

"Good reflexes Harry, but did you really think I'd stand here all day while you dug your wand out?"

Harry scrambled to his feet, wand now in hand and dashed past three more spells that impacted the decrepit wooden floor with damp thuds. Hastily, he returned fire with a selection of basic jinxes and a stunner staying on the move. Heart racing, he managed a grin even as Sirius batted his spells away all too casually.

His Godfather was clearly planning to pull no punches, and Harry wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Several hour later, and Sirius Black, filled with equal parts pride and apprehension, watched his battered, bruised and exhausted Godson leave the Shrieking Shack to enjoy the last few hours of his Hogsmeade weekend with his friends.

True to everything he had heard and seen about the boy, Harry had outperformed every expectation Sirius and Remus had of him and then some. The spells he knew were just as basic as they had expected, but he packed an absolute wallop with even minor jinxes and moved like a snake, twisting and turning out of the way of every curse he could before striking back hard. he never got close to touching Sirius of course, but Sirius had spent months with Remus shaking off the rust from Azkaban.

Prior to his stint in that hellhole though, Sirius had been able to - and in fact had - go toe to toe with his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange. Bella, the insane bint, had managed to forge herself into one of the fiercest dueling death eaters Voldemort had and perhaps only three or four of the order could match her like he could in his prime. Not including Dumbledore of course, but that was neither here nor there.

Rusty or not, there was no shame for Harry in not being able to touch him. Yet.

And that was the crucial word. Yet. Harry couldn't touch him yet. Harry wasn't making him sweat yet. The potential there however was so scary that it made him struggle to remember Harry was only in his fourth year. If he kept the work going this year, he'd cream the competition in this Triwizard Tournament. Merlin, it wouldn't take too long with enough work that Sirius would have to be making sure that Harry didn't put _him_ on his arse.

More than anything though, Harry had no quit in him whatsoever. Sirius had made sure to push and probe and try and force Harry to his limits just as that mad bastard Moody had done with the Marauders and Lily to get them battle-ready. Him and James had been spoiled back then though, Lily had been soft - though not for much longer than the first arse kicking. Harry had none of that. Pain, exhaustion, getting the shit kicked out of him for an hour by an older, better wizard. None of it had phased him. He got up for as long as he was capable, and he never once lost the fight in his eyes.

"What the fuck is Dumbledore doing, Moony? He really has given him nothing to help. And he could be _so_ much better if he'd been given even a scrap of help."

Remus looked uncomfortable, but to his credit didn't balk at the criticism of Albus Dumbledore like he had in the past. "I'm certain he has a plan but for the life of me I can't see it. It feels like he's leaving far too much up to chance. I just bring myself to go along with that with Harry - he deserves all the help we can give him."

"This could be Azkaban talking Moony," Sirius started darkly, "Is he using Harry as bait?"

Remus Lupin paused at that. The idea of using Harry as bait to draw out the Voldemort sympathiser out to harm Harry was ethically reprehensible to him. But strategically? It wouldn't be the first time Dumbledore had done such a thing in the war against Voldemort.

"I don't think we can rule that out, unfortunately. Capturing someone close to Voldemort and his plans for a resurrection would be an enormous boon."

"Not at that price, Moony. Not for anything."

"You know I agree Padfoot, but sometimes I wonder whether Dumbledore has been fighting wars against the darkness for so long that he no longer sees what the rest of us do."

The thought that they couldn't trust Dumbledore to do what was right anymore was one they had flirted with before, no matter how uncomfortable the idea made both of them. Sacrificing witches and wizards in a brutal decade-long war who had volunteered to give their lives to end it was one thing, what they were suggesting was quite another. Sirius was quite right though - Harry was too important to both of them to let him be used as a pawn in Dumbledore's war against Voldemort.

The only side that existed to them now was Harry's.

* * *

Harry traipsed with great trepidation across the grounds of Hogwarts, having been withdrawn from a Charms lesson early as planned for the very first event of the tournament. The weighing of the wands. It was his least favourite aspect of this entire affair so far. At least in the other events he was supposed to _do_ something. _Yeah, like try really hard not to die._ Today though, all he would be required to do was stand about while people gawked and the wizarding newspapers tried to get their piece of him.

He'd rather fight a bloody dragon.

He was blessed so far in his short life that, despite his circumstantial and undeserved fame, he had managed to avoid any confrontations with the British magical newspapers. They seemed every bit as sensationalist and agenda driven as some of the worst muggle tabloids though but with less restrictions on how truthful what they print had to be. Worse still, there really only seemed to be one newspaper of note, the Daily Prophet, which he'd heard Arthur Weasley complain about on several occasions.

It was curious that he had never been contacted for interviews, or received any mail from anybody in the wizarding world. Now that he thought about it, it was even weirder that only his friends sent him owls nope that he was properly part of the magical world. If he had to guess, he would say Dumbledore probably had something to do with it, though he had no real reason to believe that.

Anything that got him away from having to give interviews he was grateful for.

He realised suddenly just how little attention he had been paying to his surroundings as he noticed Luna Lovegood had appeared next to him, walking as though she had been with him since he left the castle, gaze angled dreamily towards the clouds. She noticed him looking and started as though _she_ was surprised to see _him._

"Oh, hello Harry Potter." She said as though she was only partly aware she was even talking. "You looked like the nargles were bothering you, so I came to see if I can help."

Harry blinked, confused, but opted once again to simply roll with whatever Luna was saying.

"No nargles today, Luna. Just not keen on anything to do with this tournament. Nothing I can do about it though, which is the most frustrating thing."

"Hmm, are sure about those nargles, Harry Potter? Worrying about things that can't be changed is a classic symptom that they are interfering with your brain." She paused thoughtfully. "I could always examine it for you to make sure."

Harry almost snorted, before regarding Luna with a curious look. Dark humour like that most certainly did not match up with the idea of a girl who just drifts through life without really being aware of the reality around her, but before he could say something to address it, Luna said something else.

"It seems to me that there are things to do with today that you are more worried about than others. If you're certain it isn't the nargles - which I personally believe you should not be so quick to rule out - then what is making you scowl like somebody buttered your toast with kelpie slime?"

Harry was taken aback at yet another different side to the girl, now being incredibly abrupt, despite the amused smile that had found its way back onto his face.

"I suppose, it's the idea of having to give interviews and deal with the press. I've always hated being famous - it's this everpresent reminder of why I have no parents." Luna's face softened, and for the first time Harry realised just how _tired_ the girl seemed. Dark rings hung under her eyes, and though she was usually almost ethereally pale, her skin seemed to lack it's usual shine and health. What Harry had thought was her usual drifting walk seemed right now more a bemused shuffle that Luna was struggling to maintain. "I would just rather get on with my life and let whatever it is about me that people think is special about me fade away and be forgotten."

"The saddest dreams are the ones that never had a chance to be fulfilled. I don't think it is in you to be forgotten, or normal Harry Potter." Some of the dreaminess crept back into her voice. "You and I find being normal too boring I think - much better to just enjoy what being different brings you and deal with the consequences. Pretending to be normal to avoid them would just mean being even more miserable."

Harry let out a long breath and gazed up at the wispy ribbons of cloud that laced the midday sky, free and remarkable all at the same time and Harry was struck with the thought that he reckoned he understood Luna Lovegood better than he ever thought possible.

She stopped abruptly, and Harry realised they had arrived. A large open-sided tent made from a deep red fabric traced with fine gold embroidery stood where the Quidditch pitch should be. People milled out around it, busily buzzing around the champions that were already there - Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum by the looks of things - and trying to get everything in order for the ceremony. Visible inside the tent was Albus Dumbledore talking amiably to Ollivander, Britain's premier wandmaker.

Ollivander would be performing the actual examinations of the wand and Harry wasn't sure whether that reassured him or made him feel uneasy. Probably both in all honesty. The man seemed to like him and seemed to have known his parents but also had the manner of somebody who knew things that they shouldn't. He and his shop seemed full of their own kind of magic that set the tiny hairs on the back of Harry's neck on end.

Plus the man had a stare that was, to put it bluntly, bloody creepy.

He turned to Luna with a grateful smile. He wasn't sure what had made him open up even a little to the slightly younger girl, but he genuinely felt much better after their conversation. "Thanks Luna, I really appreciate the company. I feel better and I honestly thought nothing could make me feel better about speaking to the Daily bloody Prophet, so thank you."

The girl simply smiled at something about four feet above his head, before waving at him and ambling off in a different direction - towards the Forest and Hagrid's hut. Harry stared for a moment at the bizzare girl's retreating back, before steeling himself and heading down towards the ceremony.

The actual weighing itself went about as Harry had imagined it would. The reporters had been asked to give the champions some peace before the ceremony - though Krum had taken it upon himself to speak to some of the Bulgarian contingent. Then, one by one the Champions were called forward to present their wands to Ollivander for inspection. The man seemed able to judge not only the condition of a wand, but also their cores and a wand's connection to it's owner just by looking and Harry couldn't help be curious about how he did it.

Krums wand was a light colour, Hornbeam and Dragon Heartstring and according to Ollivander was 'quite rigid'. The two seemed to have a bit a conflict when it came to the maker - Ollivander seemed to take Krum's declaration that Gregorovich wands were the best personally. Fluer was next, and the look of surprise on Ollivander's face when he discovered the girl's wand core was a Veela hair looked incredibly out of place on the man. In fairness, when Fluer, on brink of being grossly offended stated it was a hair from her grandmother, Ollivander conceded that though Veela hair apparently made for temperamental wands, the family connection could make for a well-suited and capable wand. Mollified slightly, Harry couldn't help but sardonically note that the French witch seemed about as temperamental herself as her wand would be. _Well-suited is bloody spot on._

Harry's own wand, together with Cedric's were deemed more than acceptable - though Harry was glad he'd had the foresight to thoroughly clean his wand beforehand - and Harry only had to deal with the uncomfortable allusions Ollivander made to the fact that both he and Voldemort had the same wand core. Finally, he was released to the wolves and just as he was noting with surprise the eagerness of the foreign journalists to speak with him, large mannish hands with long, thickly painted in a garish red, fingernails grabbed him by the cheek.

"If it isn't the Boy-Who-Lived in the ever so adorable flesh." A woman with heavily pencilled eyebrows and jewelled spectacles crooned at him, manoeuvring herself between him and the other journalists with a face like a hawk that had just cornered a mouse. "Rita Skeeter from the Daily Prophet, Harry - charmed to meet you of course - and I simply _must_ have your first, _exclusive_ interview."

Harry fought an urge to run stronger than when he had first seen Slytherin's basilisk and decided he may as well get it over with. "If I have to do any, the first probably should be with the Prophet." Her smile grew even more predatory and he hurried to add, "but I can't promise that it will be exclusive. The Triwizard Tournament is an international event after all."

Her plastered-on smile faltered ever so slightly before regaining it's footing as she looped her arm around his shoulder and started to usher him away. "Of course I understand Harry, though I _am_ forced to wonder how our readers will feel about your sense of _celebrity._ Now come with me Mr Potter, let's find somewhere that we can _chat_ in peace."

In hindsight, that little veiled threat should have been a warning about what he was letting himself be ushered oh so quickly into. Rita sat him down in a conjured chair as soon as they were far enough away that she was confident they wouldn't be interrupted or eavesdropped on, before setting a large black quill out next to some parchment on a similarly conjured foot-stall between the two. She called it an automatic quill and without thinking anything beyond what a handy piece of spellwork it was, Harry agreed to it's use.

The interview started about as expected, with questions about how he entered and why and about as he thought she might, Rita refused to believe him when he said it. The quill she had set up danced across the page at lightning speed, seemingly writing far more than had actually been said. He tried surreptitiously to have a look, but every time he did so, Rita changed her angle of questioning, forcing him to consider how to answer without giving her an angle of attack.

Suddenly though, the interview took a turn. Smile still saccharine, Rita looked across at him in a mockery of sympathy and asked, "and how do you think your parents would feel about you entering, Harry? Worried? Proud?" A pause. " _Disappointed?"_ Harry felt his entire demeanor, his mind even, harden at the mention of his family. His dead family. That this woman was callously exploiting for her paycheck. How the hell would he even know how to answer that question about people he had never known? Remus and Sirius probably could, if the decided not to rip this woman a new one, but not him.

"I didn't enter." He said, far too shortly to hide his loss of composure, and Rita's smile grew even as she stared at him intensely. He tried to avoid her stare and with a start he noticed her quill was still frantically scribbling. Without thinking he snatched up the piece of paper and started to read. _Tears fill those startlingly green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember..._

Fury filled him and for a good few moments he didn't even notice that the corners of the parchment he was holding were starting to smoulder emerald flames. "This interview is over." He ground out, Rita for the first time showing hesitation in dealing with him, and began to stomp away making sure she had no chance to take what she had written back. How dare she use his parents like that. She didn't know him or them. She had no idea what it was like to have grown up not even having known them, not even knowing if they had loved him. She didn't have the right.

He stormed across the grounds and realised to late to avoid being seen that he had wound up at Hagrid's hut, as though on autopilot. Hagrid had been outside, just ushering away his final class of the day - Harry's had been the first - and took in the boy in front of him, jovial smile morphing quickly into worried frown.

"Fancy coming in for a cup'a tea, Harry?"

Harry let what remained of Rita's parchment fall gently to the ground, mere glowing orange embers now, and followed his first ever real friend into his stone hut and felt fury give way to the grief that had followed him ever since he had been able to understand that his parents were dead.

"Thanks Hagrid." He whispered quietly as he followed the half giant into his cosy, if somewhat moth-eaten home.

"Anytime Harry, you know tha'. Anytime you need it, just come right down an' see me."


	11. The Missing Girl

**!**

* * *

 _Stand Tall_

 _Chapter XI_

 _The Missing Girl_

* * *

Lamplight flickered across the stonework of Professor McGonagall's office, giving strange illumination to the two professors across from Harry. All things considered, he couldn't be in more intimidating company had he actually done something wrong or broken any rules. He glanced at Snape's impassive, stony face. On second thought, he was pretty intimidated even though he _hadn't_ done anything wrong.

The fact that the potions professor was missing his customary sneer and venom normally reserved for him was telling. The attack on a second Ravenclaw, Cho Chang had forced the professors into action. This wasn't the same as when the Chamber of Secrets opened - it wasn't a mysterious creature unseen. This had been done by a person, a student most likely, and the school needed to be seen to doing something.

"As you know Mr Potter, the school is interviewing people regarding the recent attacks and appealing to people for any information that they might have which could help us find the culprit." McGonagall began professionally, though her face lacked any of the severity that normally came with a dressing down.

"I thought it was just Ravenclaw being called for interviews though?"

"For the most part, yes. However several of the Ravenclaws have noted to us your involvement in what they consider to be _their_ house affairs." McGonagall's face showed what she thought of that level of territoriality. "Mr Entwhistle has corroborated the story of his house mates, though in far more charitable terms."

Harry felt his temper begin to fray. Snape's face stayed miraculously impassive, though for some reason that managed to aggravate him even more than the git's usual disdainful sneer. "So I'm a suspect because I've been speaking to Ravenclaws about problems in their house?" Harry asked heatedly.

"No Potter, which you would know if you had bothered to allow Professor McGonagall to finish." The remark was delivered without customary venom and Snape's cold, black eyes stared at him giving no clue as to what thoughts or feelings lay behind them. It was incredibly unsettling. He rubbed his scar anxiously.

"Indeed, Professor." McGonagall cut in with a vaguely reproachful look at him. "The reason you are here is to provide your perspective on the issues within Ravenclaw House and how that might pertain to the attacks. Those within Ravenclaw itself have closed ranks - Professor Flitwick is dealing with that as we speak. Even Mr Entwhistle gave us only cursory details. He merely implied that we should speak to you."

Professor Snape's eyes seemed to bore into him as he took up from where McGongall had paused. "It is highly irregular for a student to be reached out to like this Potter. It is _imperative_ that you are forthright with us so that we may help."

Harry was a moment away from a snort at the idea of Snape helping with anything but something about his attitude made him pause. Everything about Snape was off, different.It was almost as though he knew his usual vitriol would stop Harry from talking and so was deciding to be civil. The only reason he would do that though, was a genuine desire to help. And yet, the teachers had been approached before about the bullying in Ravenclaw. Nothing had been proven, so nothing had been done. Luna had suffered even more for that.

That said, he knew exactly how McGonagall felt about bullying; and if Snape genuinely wanted to help...

Merlin help anyone that these two caught.

He long out a long sigh. "I ran across Luna Lovegood in the corridors between classes at the start of the year - she had no shoes and didn't really seem like she was fully aware of what was happening around her." A small bending of the truth but this was one duo he didn't want to be casually talking about his midnight wanderings in front of. "It just didn't seem right to me so I decided to ask Kevin about it the following day."

"What Kevin told me, if I'm being honest, made me pretty angry. Luna is being bullied by her own house. They take her things, insult and curse her - she has a horrible time here. From what Kevin told me, Cho Chang went to Flitwick in Luna's first year to try and stop it. Luna denied anything was happening - frightened, if I had to guess - and nothing was done. Luna's been bearing it without complaint since."

"...And now Miss Chang is in the Infirmary." Snape added; glare intimidating, voice dangerously silky and low. Harry swallowed.

"Why didn't you bring this to us, Mr Potter? Even if this is unrelated to the attacks, we could have helped Miss Lovegood." McGonagall looked about as reproachful as she had ever but Harry was no easily quashed first year.

"I thought about it Professor. But I have no proof, and people tried telling the teachers first. It didn't work, and if that happened again Luna's treatment would probably get even worse in retaliation. I'm not stupid enough to go after the bullies myself but I couldn't come to the teachers without proof unless I'm willing to risk that Luna's treatment could be escalated in retaliation."

"Did it ever occur to you Potter, that the teachers would be capable of gathering the proof without risking Miss Lovegood?"

"It did, Professor Snape." Harry shifted to meet Snape stare for stare, refusing to be intimidated into backing down. "But correct me if I'm wrong, but there are procedures and rules _you_ have to follow when dealing with this kind of situation - even in magical school - aren't there? You'd have to start pulling people in and talking to them, which would be all the reason Luna's bullies would need." He took a breath, glancing back over to McGonagall, who was listening with an unreadable expression on her face.

"Of course, you could break the rules but then you put yourselves at risk. I was hoping I'd be able to find some proof before bringing it to the Professors so that they wouldn't have to do that. If I still couldn't find anything, I was going to bring it to you either way. Obviously, this was before the attack on Cho. If I hadn't been called in, I probably would have gone to Professor McGonagall anyway today in case this is all connected."

Harry finished and met the two Professors eye to eye, trying to maintain his confidence even with the nagging guilt in the back of his mind. He had known about the bullying from pretty much the start of the year - if it was connected to the attacks and he hadn't gone straight to the teachers... His stomach turned at the thought that a different decision may have prevented these attacks. Daisy and Cho both hospitalised, and it may have been his fault.

"Mr Potter, it is not _your_ job to protect staff interests." McGonagall began with customary sternness, which softened almost imperceptibly as she went. "But it is a measure of our failure to provide a safe environment for you and the other students at Hogwarts that you don't see it that way."

Harry offered a sheepish smile. He knew that was the closest he would get any time soon to an apology for his concerns and ideas about dangers to the school being brushed off in prior years. "If it makes you feel any better Professor, I'd still take the Basilisk and being put in this ridiculous tournament over the Dursleys."

His comment seemed to have the opposite effect to what he was intending. The transfiguration professor seemed stricken for a moment but before he could think about that any further, Snape's voice reminded him that the man was even still in the room.

"Whilst I agree that it is a sign of _considerable_ ego that Mr Potter feels as though he must protect us, I do... _agree_ with his course of action. It would be impossible to predict these attacks without foreknowledge of them; and alerting us _would_ have provoked retaliation from the culprit. There were other things that could have been done, but Mr Potter acted with surprising consideration of the consequences of his actions."

Harry simply stared. There had been a cheeky insult, sure. And that might have been the most reluctant use of the word 'agree' that Harry had ever heard, but Snape was looking at him as though he were some strange creature the Potions Professor had never seen before and needed to be figured out. It was an astounding shift from the acidic treatment he had received until this point in his Hogwarts career.

After that, the meeting wound itself down. Now aware, the professors would surreptitiously look for evidence of bullying as well as the culprit behind these attacks but urged Harry to come forward as soon as he heard anything - though McGonagall stressed that he was no longer to look for the culprit himself. The paradigm had shifted. It was no longer simply a case of bullying, the possible link between Luna's bullying and the attacks now meant that the teachers had more leeway in finding out who was responsible.

Still, away from the adrenaline from having to face down both Snape and McGonagall to defend his actions; the guilt that had started creeping in once a link had been made between Luna's bullying and the attacks started to seep back into his mind as he walked back to Gryffindor Tower. What if they were connected and he had said nothing? Maybe it _was_ his fault? His fists tightened and his paced quickened through darkened corridors.

His fault. The Tournament and Ron's betrayal. Voldemort. Rita _bloody_ Skeeter parading the parents he'd never known in front of him to provoke a reaction. It was too much all at once. He had no idea how he was supposed to cope or deal with any of this, let alone all of it at the same time. Hagrid had helped. His friends were still helping. He wasn't alone - that was about all he had to hang on to at this point.

But it was a thin thread, Harry knew. He could feel it in his head, pulled taught and straining. How much more would it take before it snapped and sent him tumbling off into the the dark?

* * *

 _...Given his fragile mental state, one is forced to wonder whether these two 'ambitious' social climbers should really be permitted to so brazenly take advantage of the Boy-Who-Lived's vulnerability. Did he cheat his way into this tournament to win their affection? Who's to say?! But dear readers, I know where I would be placing my bets..._

Skeeters article went on to question Dumbledore's sanity and mental acuity for letting such brazen girls near him, but Harry scrunched the paper in his hands and slammed it down on the table. It was easily the most humiliating experience he'd had in his life and a quick glance around the hall as Hogwarts ate breakfast confirmed that it was a humiliation the entire school was taking enjoyment from. He had never seen so many copies of the Prophet, nor had he ever seen this many people reading it and laughing. The less than conspicuous snide glances from across the hall on the other hand, he was well used to.

Worse still was Ron's reaction. He could _feel_ the Weasley's glare from here and he knew his ill-tempered former friend would be bright red and practically frothing. What Harry didn't know was whether Ron was petty enough to be mad that Harry had gotten into the newspaper, or whether he was mad because the article had implied that he and Hermione had _done things_ in a Hogwarts broom closet. It seemed to be an act of masochism at this point but Harry couldn't help searching the Slytherin table for Malfoy and _his_ reaction.

Draco Malfoy spotted Potter's look from across the hall, having spent the last few minutes watching the Gryffindor squirm and smirked with everything he had. The fury that bloomed across Potter's face made it well worth it in his opinion. All in all, this had been a rather fantastic morning. Reading the article with breakfast, and then being treated to the spectacle of the school reading it in front of a thoroughly humiliated Potter? Far and away one of the best mornings Hogwarts could possibly have offered.

It was only a trifling amusement for him now though. His previous infatuation with Potter and his ilk was a mere childish remnant of who he had been. Things had changed. He had changed.

His Father had seen to that.

Now he needed to be focused and driven, cunning and bold. Squabbles and petty feuds could not interfere with work and there was now work to do. Slytherin needed to be united and the other houses as fractured as possible. That said, if the focus of previous petty feuds happened to align with the goals of his work... Well it just wouldn't be very Slytherin not to take advantage.

His eyes slid to one of the few at his houses table not enjoying Potter's misery. Blaise Zabini had always been a thorn to him. He refused to be drawn to confirming where he stood despite his family loyalties and he had spurned, always politely, any outreach from the Malfoy scion. Bad enough to warrant action, but now all accounts indicated that he had thrown in with Potter and that was unforgivable. Draco could have admired the bravery of it, if it weren't so repulsively Gryffindor.

It posed a problem to his work however. As much as Zabini kept to himself, he possessed the respect of a good portion of the house. Those not turned off by his association with Potter may well align with him and split the house. This was utterly unacceptable. Blaise Zabini needed to be brought down a peg.

Unite his house. Divide the others. Ravenclaw was a mess as it was and Hufflepuff almost wasn't worth thinking about. Gryffindor needed to be his first target and the stroke of fortune that was the Triwizard Tournament had given him the means. The article was an opportunity. Potter was vulnerable and like him, was the focal point for his house. All he had to do was target the right weakness and Gryffindor would split around the scar-headed moron.

His target already in mind, he rose out of his chair, eyes focused on his prey like a hawk.

"Draco? Where are you going?" Pansy's curious whine came from beside him, but he hardly heard it, waving her off dismissively. He positively stalked across the room and had to force down a triumphant smirk as he arrived at his destination, his target loudly mewling his disdain for Potter.

"Weasley, a moment?" He kept his voice as steady as he could. His prey had a temper, and if he sensed mockery this would never work.

"What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" Wesley half-shouted, off-balance and still foaming with anger at Potter.

"Didn't come to pick a fight Weasley, just talk - over there." He said evenly, nodding towards a quiet alcove in the corner of the hall. He had chosen the spot with care. Far enough away from prying but still within sight that the other Gryffindors wouldn't worry about him being cursed. Weasley looked torn between not wanting to go and worried that he'd be called a coward and in the moment of hesitation Draco cocked his eyebrow. No words spoken, but the implication was clear. _Unless you're scared of me, Weasel._

"Fine, whatever." He grumbled before clumsily getting to his feet. Reluctant compliance was still compliance.

"Look, " he started carefully, trying to preclude any aggression from the redhead. "Before anything else I wanted to apologise for my actions since we have started at Hogwarts. I've done a lot of growing upt his Summer, Weasley and my behaviour has been inexcusable. The Wesley's, like the Malfoy's are old blood and even if you don't think that's important, you're still deserving of more respect than I've ever shown. I'm sorry." Draco thought he'd done a reasonable job of being sincere but it was clear even Weasley wasn't that thick.

"Bullshit, Malfoy. Now get on with it - I've already lost most of my appetite from seeing you this morning. I'd like _some_ bloody breakfast."

Draco bit back his own fury at insult. The end goal made temporary frustrations worthwhile. "Fine. I just wondered for how much longer you're going to take this from Potter. Lying, cheating and betraying you is cold enough, but now he's shacking up with Granger? His heads gotten too swollen Weasley. Your family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight - does he even know what that is? What it means? You are important, Weasley. Even the Potter's aren't on that list. Can you tell me honestly that he ever gave you the respect you deserved?"

Silence, blissful silence followed and Draco revelled in the turmoil that played out across Weasley's face.

"What's your point, Malfoy?"

"I say he needs to brought down a peg. A little constructive humiliation if you catch my drift. Take a leaf from your older brothers' book. Teach him a little lesson about what it means to betray a Wesley. After all," and now for the killer blow, "he's friends with the rest of your family - you're little sister too. If he'll betray his best friend like this, what might he do to them?"

Wesley held for a moment, then snorted. "Piss off Malfoy." He stomped off back to his table and Malfoy finally allowed himself a smirk.

The damage had been done.

Harry watched Malfoy and Ron separate with a concerned frown. He felt as if hell had frozen over and Snape had smiled and that he'd seen pigs fly all at once. Admittedly, that last one was no longer that unexpected but Ron and Malfoy having a conversation that didn't end in wands being drawn was utterly alien to him. Ron had sold them out to Snape, no matter how much he denied it. But Malfoy? There was no way - Harry wouldn't believe it. He certainly was worrying about it now though. The thought of Ron hanging up with Malfoy against him alongside everything else was too much to bear.

A light tinkling from the front of the hall stopped him from thinking about it for any longer. A hard looking man had taken to Dumbledore's podium at the, flanked by a man Harry recognised from the Quidditch World Cup - Ludo Bagman. The two were at complete odds with each other. The first looked severe, almost machine made with a toothbrush mustache and business-like black and grey robes. The other, relaxed and somewhat portly, waved good-naturedly at the assembled schoolchildren.

"Good morning boys and girls." Dumbledore intoned softly. "Alongside myself and the Heads of the esteemed Durmstrang and Beauxbatons schools; it is my pleasure to introduce the final two judges of the Triwizard Tournament. Mr Crouch, the Head of the Department of International Co-operation; and Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sport. Not to mention," Dumbledore added with a wry grin, "a former professional Beater with some, not inconsiderable, skill."

Bagman smiled broadly and the Quidditch-mad among the student broke into a round of cheers and applause that the man responded to with exaggerated waves and bows. He probably thought he looked pretty regal - Harry thought he looked like Uncle Vernon several beers into a Saturday.

"Yes, thank you Professor Dumbledore, and assembled students of Hogwarts." Crouch's dour voice cut through the fun neatly, magically amplified and incredibly boring all at the same time. Only Fred and George remained clapping for an awkward series of seconds but their smirks told that they knew exactly what they had done. "Quite." The man intoned severely, eyes boring towards the _severely_ unrepentant twins.

A quick glance at Dumbledore and Harry saw that the Headmaster was not exactly displeased with the twins. His face was impassive but his eyes shone with unrestrained amusement.

"The Ministry has given us the incredibly exciting and vital task of announcing the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament." Harry felt suddenly aware of his incredibly dry throat but couldn't quite help turning to Neville next to him and whispering.

"Exciting? Someone should tell his face." Neville snorted loudly, and Crouch scanned the room looking for the culprit. He never did, but McGonagall's stern eyes had. Neville coughed nervously and they returned their attention to Crouch.

"The First Task will take place on the 24th of November and shall be a challenge designed to test both your courage and your minds. As such, you shall be given no other information about the nature of this challenge. Prepare broadly and for anything." Harry frowned. That was ominous and vague, something that put him even more on edge than he was already. It would be almost impossible to plan ahead for this one without cheating, so they were looking to see who was best able to come up with a plan on the fly as well as which of them had the breadth of magical knowledge and skill to be able to carry it out.

"Furthermore, across two days - the 8th of December and the 16th of March; there will be an inter-school dueling competition as a supplementary round in which the Champions will be obliged to complete. Each champion's placing will earn them points to carry forward into the tournament. The duels will be refereed by an independent body according to International rules and will be open only to Seventh Years." Crouch coughed quietly into his closed fist, before nodding his head towards the utterly silent Great Hall. "That is all."

* * *

Harry sidestepped a fizzing red spell, before casting his Shield charm to absorb two well-paced follow-ups. Blaise was seriously getting good. Everybody was, in all honesty but it was Blaise who he being forced on the defensive by. The Slytherin packed a steady punch with his spells - not the wallop that Harry had been told he packed, nor quite as much as Neville could on the odd occasion he seemed to really connect with a spell. But still more than Hermione could deliver consistently, or Ron before he had stopped coming to their meetings for that matter.

Still, it was pleasing to experience the progress Blaise had made even as he launched his own series of spells. Stunner first, several leg-lockers and a full body-bind. It was a series that seemed to go together well, something that Harry was only beginning to notice about his spells. All spells seemed to force a gap in casting with their wand movements but some spells seemed to flow somewhat naturally from one to the next with their movements allowing for smaller gaps. Smaller gaps meant less opportunities for the opponent to counter or defend. Stunner, leg locker twice and a full body bind was his longest 'chain' of spells, mostly because he hadn't found a spell that naturally followed the body bind.

That said, four spells was enough to get Blaise on the back foot and that was all he needed to put into motion something he'd wanted to try since Skeeter had brought his parents back to the forefront of his mind. The Slytherin smoothly stepped away from the body bind that had pierced his own shield charm; but Harry was already casting. Wand pointed at a table, it's top slammed to the floor even as it's legs slithered out from underneath it.

" _Restrain him."_

Blaise' eyes widened as he realised what had happened but Harry threw another chain at him before he could defend himself.

" _Accio_ table!" Blaise cried and another table came spinning towards him, intercepting Harry's spells with a vicious splintering of wood. " _Incendio!_ " Flame erupted from his wand, incinerating Harry's snakes. It wasn't enough though. Even as Blaise scanned for Harry to cast again, a black shape bundled into him from his side, sending him to the floor and his wand skidding across the concrete floors.

The black labrador retriever pinning the Slytherin to the floor gave Blaise a cheeky lick to his face, before reverting back to a chair.

"Pretty sure McGonagall hasn't taught that yet, Potter." He paused long enough to drag himself to his feet and wipe the drool from his face. "And I'm pretty sure _she_ teaches it to be cats."

Harry shrugged unapologetically. "My Dad was supposed to have been amazing at Transfiguration. I asked Hermione to give me the heads up on what we would be studying this year so I could study ahead." He smiled, mostly to himself. "Plus, I prefer dogs."

"Harry, that was amazing! I'd never have thought to use Transfiguration in a duel like that!" Harry and Blaise both snapped their heads round to see Hermione with a muggle notebook and pen, eagerly scribbling notes.

"How long were you here, Granger?" Blaise asked, eyebrow raised.

"Only for the last part of the duel." She stated, and then she scowled at Harry. "You could have told me you were coming to practice early, I would have come too."

"Sorry Hermione, we didn't arrange it beforehand. I met Blaise in the Great Hall and asked if he fancied an early duel to warm up." Harry responded, a little sheepishly. The last thing he wanted was for Hermione to feel left out. He really didn't need to alienate another of his first and closest friends.

"It's fine, Harry. I'm mostly joking - I know you wouldn't leave any of us out on purpose. Want me to read out the notes I made on what I managed to see?"

"Why not? Always happy to take some critique - especially when it's as detailed as your-"

Suddenly, the door to the practice room burst open with a crash, to reveal a panting and slightly sweaty Neville.

"Harry, quick - we've got to move! The Professors are all up and about and searching the castle, we'll be caught if we hang about!" Neville was wide-eyed and pale and a quick glance at the map on the wall lent credence to what he was saying. Even Dumbledore was marching down a corridor on the sixth floor with a purpose.

"What on earth's happened Neville?" He asked nervously, almost dreading to hear the answer. _Please not another attack. Please not another one..._

What Neville said though, was perhaps even worse for him than that.

"It's Luna, Harry. She's not been see in the castle since yesterday evening - didn't come to any of her lessons, and hasn't gone to her dorm tonight." Neville looked like he might cry and Harry didn't blame him. "She's missing, Harry. No-one knows where she is. What are we going to do?"


	12. Stand Tall, Fight Back

**!**

* * *

 _Stand Tall_

 _Chapter XII_

 _Stand Tall, Fight Back_

* * *

Two weeks Later

Her quill strokes were quick and efficient, with very little time for flourishes and frivolities. As the Deputy Head of the school her quillmanship could not be further apart from her counterpart, Albus Dumbledore. His handwriting was full of swishes, flicks and glamorous twirls, as well as being overly large and loopy. It was every bit as flamboyant as the eccentric personality he presented to the world. Even Severus Snape managed to convey a certain beauty in his writing. His motion was smooth and full of finesse, every rounded letter precise and screaming a dangerous grace.

Her workmanlike handwriting was the lesser of Minerva McGonagall's flaws. The staff investigation into the attacks on Ravenclaw girls and the subsequent disappearance of Luna Lovegood had brought sharply into focus another, far more loathsome weakness - her treatment of Harry Potter. Already, the circumstance of his childhood was a prickly thorn of regret that had remained lodged in her consciousness since the boy had turned up at Hogwarts for the first time.

Clearly malnourished, little confidence in himself and far more reserved and polite than any child of James and Lily Potter had any right to be. His home life had clearly, at best, been not ideal and she could have prevented that had she mounted even a sliver of an argument against Albus' decision to leave him with Lily's sister. His personality made it easy for her to avoid confronting her guilt over this, as well as reconciling him to her two dead friends and former students. She had been particularly close to James Potter and the fact that Harry was so unlike him in manner made it very easy for her to keep her distance.

Her problem was the precise opposite to the one that Severus had.

It meant that, when he arrived at Hogwarts clearly having suffered neglect - it was easy to follow Albus' direction that Harry was being taken care of. That staff shouldn't interfere. It was even easier to dismiss Harry's concerns about the Philosopher's Stone. As it turned out, the only thing Harry had been wrong about was the real culprit; her refusal to listen when he had asked for her help had led to him going himself. As a former member of the Order of the Phoenix and friend of Dumbledore, Minerva was privy to information others weren't. She was one of a handful of people who knew that Harry hadn't just prevented the theft of the stone that night - he had prevented the rebirth of Lord Voldemort.

Harry had fought that monster alone, having been thoroughly dismissed out of hand by the Head of his House.

In his second year at the school Harry had, according to the Headmaster, fought and killed a basilisk. She had never seen the beast but even then, he had tried to get an adults help before putting himself at risk. Admittedly, choosing Gilderoy Lockhart could be considered a serious lapse in judgement but Minerva could understand how the logic of a frightened twelve year old might lead down that road.

Severus had a habit of accusing Harry of having an inflated ego, of believing he was better even than staff but she _knew_ this to be false. He had tried asking for help, he had tried 'leaving it to the adults' and had been let down by them every single time. So now, in his head at least, _of course_ it seemed as though everything was up to him. Of course he had been trying to protect the staff whilst investigating bullying in another house. _Of course_ he hadn't come to them for help again. Why on earth would he? Especially upon hearing that staff had looked into accusation of Ms. Lovegood being bullied before and hadn't managed to stop anything. Merlin, she was half-surprised he managed to still be respectful towards most of them. How often had the adults in his life failed him?

Harry Potter worried her greatly. He was one of many things that did so. Albus' actions with the boy in recent years were becoming more and more suspect, more and more difficult to look past and trust him regarding. Leaving him with the Dursley's had been an unmitigated disaster in her view, yet Albus refused to be swayed on the matter - even with the emergence of Sirius. The presence of the stone, the hiring of Quirell, Lockhart and even Trelawney were all incredibly circumspect when put together. Why was it that the defenses placed upon the Philosophers Stone were all breachable by a group of ten-year old, scarcely trained children?

And now, Harry was being forced to compete in the Triwizard Tournament and students were being attacked and going missing. It was only the binding magical contract under which their brightest students were held that kept Beauxbatons and Durmstrang from leaving Hogwarts to it's mess and going home. Once again, several parents had written threatening to withdraw their children should the school not be made safe.

The corridors were now quiet and tense - she hadn't had to speak with anyone about their behaviour in the hallways for over a week now. Students were never late because they hurried in large groups from lesson to lesson. Fear, unspoken but ever-present, hung heavily over the school like a dark cloud and no-one - note even the staff - escaped it.

Her world was beginning to feel more and more like it did in the days leading up to the First War. People going missing, fear, confusion and suspicion. Voldemort had conducted his operation from the shadows for several years, assassinating and kidnapping key figures and opponents, well before wizarding Britain as a whole was aware of a large-scale threat. It terrified her to think those times were coming back, that her school and her pupils might once again be forced to go through such a harrowing experience.

A flash of red caught her eye, and an envelope she had been trying to keep out of her mind for as long as she could rustled it's way out from the papers she had buried it beneath. It was not like her to put things off, least of all unpleasant things. She was too old and had seen too much for that, but this she had put off because of what it represented. Dumbledore had approached her prior to the beginning of the school year, revealed some of his suspicions and asked the question then. She had said no, had told him to come back when he had some concrete evidence of what he said.

She no longer needed it, the answers were everywhere she looked. Regardless of the ill feelings she held towards Dumbledore's decisions with Harry, it was finally time for her to rejoin the Order of the Phoenix.

And soon, she knew, it would be time to fight for the future of those she taught.

* * *

Harry stepped gingerly into the disused classroom on the fifth floor, feet aching and slumped heavily into one of the few chairs left out.

"Anything?" It was Hermione who had asked the question, but with the tone of someone who already knew the answer. The rest of their defence group was there in the other chairs, all looking various degrees of frazzled. Neville looked tired, his approach to their task had been much the same as Harry's - just with a few less hours. Hermione had, predictably fallen back on books and hit the library hard - twice Harry had half dragged her from her books so that she wouldn't read through the night too often. Blaise's face had a tired tightness to it, the only hint of his own anxiety and tension.

He felt a surge of appreciation and guilt in equal measure seeing them like this. They had taken on this burden for him as much as they had done it for Luna, Blaise especially.

"Nothing." He sighed, exhaustion beginning to show. "It doesn't help that most Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws won't even talk to me anymore. No one has seen or heard anything. I even asked Hagrid to check in with the centaurs and Aragog just to make sure she hadn't wondered into the forest. Not sure how much I trust an acromantula to be honest about that kind of thing, but I reckon Firenze is pretty reliable. I don't think much happens in the forest without the centaurs knowing. You guys?"

"I'm finding very few specifics regarding ways out of the castle from the library. Hogwarts a History, though a little obvious refers several times to there being a multitude of methods of escape but obviously very few specifics. If I were to guess, the library has been culled of books that advise on ways to get out of the castle." Hermione responded first, shaking off her tiredness to appear as business-like as possible.

"What if she was taken against her will rather than left?" Blaise asked. "From what little I know of her, leaving by choice is unlikely even with everything she had been through."

The idea of kidnapping put a sour expression on Hermione's face but she still nodded to Blaise in acquiescence. "I would have to agree. And again the nature of a school library prevents me from really making ground in coming up with realistic ways Luna could have been taken. The literature agrees there are dark objects that could achieve that but gives no specifics on which objects or how they might do so." She grimaced. "I'd need access to the forbidden section of the library to have a hope of finding something."

Blaise nodded slowly. "I may be able to help with that. Professor Snape has never asked to many questions of his Slytherins when they've asked for access. If I can get in, we'll go see what we can find."

She blinked, surprised for a moment before smiling, "that would be a huge help Blaise, thank you."

"My search has been even less fruitful, Potter." Hermione momentarily looked a little put off Blaise hadn't acknowledged her thanks, but seemed to brush it off in favour of listening. "Usually with anything like this, any knowledge about it is the House's worst kept secret - especially if one of us had anything to do with it. But the common room is unusually silent about this - most just seem worried that we'll be painted as the villains of the piece again like in second year. Which either means no-one actually knows what happened, or someone's keeping it incredibly quiet - school children aren't usually so good at that."

Harry frowned at that. From what Blaise had said about his House before, Slytherins traded heavily on information. Knowledge was power to them and it was traded between them freely - good practice for adult life. He seriously doubted that information about Luna would not be circulating around the house if it existed at all. Neville's report was similar. He'd managed to make some friends in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw across the years and it seemed that no-one knew anything. The last time Luna had been seen was when she had left the common room for one of her evening outings. She hadn't been seen since. _Two weeks._ Anything could have happened in that time, anything at all.

The Daily Prophet had covered her disappearance of course - a missing girl at the supposed safest place in the country was a huge story. But their writing had changed over the last few days. There was no longer a presumption that Luna would be found alive.

The rest of their session was rather subdued, as was fitting to their moods - though Harry's in particular was low. He had managed in the immediate aftermath of Luna's disappearance to keep himself on top of things by focusing on what he could do to help find her. But after two weeks of no sign and no answers, he was struggling to hold on to hope.

He was terrified something terrible had happened, something terrible he could have stopped if he had made different choices, if he had been better. He was terrified of this ridiculous tournament and what might happen to him during it. He was terrified of Voldemort; of the man's surely inevitable return to life and the threat to his own life that would certainly follow. He was terrified that when Voldemort _did_ return, he would be unable to protect anyone. Unable to do anything about it.

He didn't know what it was - he knew he wasn't special, or important, or powerful - but something told him that it would be down to him in the end. Something deep inside _knew_ that when Voldemort came back it would be down to _him._ And he couldn't measure up to that responsibility. Who could other than Dumbledore? It was like a constant pressure, pressing at the peripheral of his mind that he couldn't get rid of. And with every additional burden, the pressure was growing ever more intense so that when he thought about everything at once it felt as though his brain would split in two.

Their morning session came to an end in unsettling silence, with the tolling of the bell for second period. Its seemed more solemn than usual and not for the first time Harry wondered just how sentient the castle and all of it's various features really were.

* * *

Potions, like always had been a dire affair. But for Ron, potions without his usual friends had been utterly awful. Seamus and Dean were an inseperable pair and as much as he had spent most of his time since he and Harry had fought with them, there was no seat for a third wheel in Snape's class. He had wound up next to Daphne bloody Greengrass of all people - a silvery blonde-haired Slytherin. Still, she had been weirdly polite and they had managed to get their potion done without much fuss at all, even if he had been on the lookout for sabotage the entire time.

Getting paired with a Slytherin turned out to be an unexpected blessing however, when it came time for leaving. Snape let him and Greengrass through without a second thought, whilst sending Harry and Neville back to restart their potion again. He took full advantage of the opportunity Snape had unwittingly provided and bustled out of the classroom as fast as he could. The hallways were quiet - third period hadn't ended yet - but they soon would be as everyone hurried to lunch. He had to be done by then so he could watch the fireworks. The main door to the Great Hall would have been perfect for what he had in mind but he would almost certainly be caught, so he dashed for a heavily travelled one that he knew Harry would pass through.

It was two doors away from the Hall, and students coming from Divination, Potions and Transfiguration would all typically use it to get to the Hall for lunch. It would be heaving by the time Harry made it there, which was ideal. His former best friend had changed. Making friends with Slytherins, cheating to get into the tournament and not even telling him. Maybe things _were_ getting to his head. If they were, he needed to have his head reduced in size a little bit. It didn't seem that any of the others he was with were doing that, so it would be up to him as Harry's best friend to do it. More importantly, Harry's betrayal _hurt_. It hurt a lot. Ron knew he hadn't always been a perfect friend but for Harry to just leave him behind like that, to get into the tournament without him or Hermione was just plain selfish. No small part of Ron wanted Harry to realise just how much that had hurt him.

Arriving at the chosen doorway, he removed his wand and performed the required movements, tapping the doorway several times as he did so. Being Harry's dorm mate had given him the required access to the clothes he would be wearing today. Only when Harry's clothes passed through would the charm be activated, stopping any innocent parties from getting hurt in the process. He had no idea why the parchment with this spell on it had been in a Transfiguration book whilst he was doing McGonagall's essay in the Library but it had been an absolute blessing in disguise.

In a matter of minutes the hall started to fill as students filtered through from their classes and Ron spotted Seamus. Walking over, he grinned, "Here Seamus, watch when Potter walks through this door."

Seamus quirked an eyebrow. "What have you done, Ron?"

"You'll see, just wait."

Finally, Harry turned the corner. He was frowning talking quietly to Hermione. Ron recognised the face - it was one that he had seen when something big was wrong and they were trying to help. Suddenly, he remembered that Harry had been worried about that Lovegood girl before she had gone missing - he had been trying to help. He was probably worried about her. Ron made a start forward to stop him from going through that doorway - he wanted to put Harry in his place a little, but not while he was worried about that kind of thing. Even he knew that wasn't on.

He'd made it three steps, and breathed in to shout a warning. Too late. Harry walked through the doorway. The corridor went silent, before whispers broke out. People stopped to stare, nudged their friends to join them. Harry and Hermione engrossed in their conversation still hadn't noticed that all of Harry's clothes besides his boxers, socks and shoes had been turned invisible by Ron's spell. He was walking through the corridor in nothing but his pants and had no idea.

Ron swallowed, guilt filling him but of everyone it was Seamus that broke first.

"Ron Weasley that was bloody brilliant!" He shouted, before breaking into loud guffaws. Ron swallowed, throat suddenly dry but others joined Seamus' laughs. People that heard came over, congratulating him on a prank well pulled, mentioning that Potter needed pulling down a peg or two for cheating and so on.

Ron felt that tide of guilt begin to recede again, and a smile found it's way onto his face as he explained to the crown that had gathered what he had done. After all, Harry _had_ needed his ego deflated.

He never noticed Harry running, nor the betrayal in his former best friends face as he did so.

* * *

Harry sat silently in the corner of a darkened classroom, knees clutched tightly to his chest. He'd never been much of a crier - Vernon was always so much worse when he did - but tears rolled down his cheeks now, despite the lack of sobbing. He didn't bother to wipe them away. His thoughts were a messy jumble of betrayal and guilt and pressure and he couldn't pull a single one out from the tornado to even begin to work through it. It was like what Ron did opened a floodgate and everything he had been holding back, every unwanted feeling, every burden he'd locked away in his mind so that he could get on with his life had just flooded in all at once, overloading all of the emotional defenses he had.

"Oh Harry." Hermione's quiet, sad voice came from the doorway to the room. And the girl, near tears herself walked over, unsure, and set herself down next to him. "I suppose asking how you are is pretty redundant."

"I can't do this Hermione. It's too much - everything - I can't-"

Hermione placed a hand gently on his face, silencing him. "Of course you can Harry, you're-"

"I can't Hermione!" He could feel himself building towards hysteria now, but he hardly cared. Things were starting to build towards a fever pitch and he knew he couldn't stop it by himself. "Voldemort is coming back, and he's going to bloody try and kill me. This tournament is supposed to do the same thing - hell, it's probably him that put me in it in the first place. I'm in way over my fucking head, Luna's missing and I can't help, but maybe if I had done something in the first place she would still be fine." Tears were falling faster now, and breathing was coming in short gasps. "I just feel- I just-"

He was stopped in his tracks by Hermione hugging him. Not a hard intense hug, but gently and calmly, as though all of the things he had just talked about didn't exist. "You know Harry, anybody else and I would say just about all of the things you just talked about were not even close to your responsibility to worry about. Dumbledore should be getting you out of this ridiculous tournament, it's other people's job to keep the students safe - but since it's you, I won't even bother.

"Do you remember what I said to you in our first year, before you went through the fire to face Voldemort?" Harry remembered, of course he remembered, but he didn't answer here. "It's still true you know. You see things that are wrong and decide to do something about it because you are _you._ A great wizard - Harry Potter."

"I'm just Harry, Hermione. Not great, not the Boy-Who-Lived, not anything like that. I'm just _me_. I-"

"Oh you stubborn... Never mind, obviously words aren't what you need right now." Hermione huffed in a complete change of direction from how she had been. "As if I ever cared even a jot about any of that Boy-Who- Never mind! Come with me Harry, let me show you exactly who you are to me and everybody else you've ever helped, and everybody you ever will."

He blinked, but was given no chance to respond as Hermione took him by the hand and bustled him off through the school.

"Where are we-"

"Never you mind, just wait and see."

She took him down stairs and through corridors until they arrived at a _very_ familiar door. The door to the second floor girls bathroom.

"Hermione..."

"Inside." And she bustled him through this door as well, brazenly ignoring Myrtle who, in a remarkable feat of reading the atmosphere only stared as the went straight to the snake engraved sink. "Open it."

"Hermione, this is a bad-"

"Harry, just trust me on this please. You need to see what's down here."

"I know what's down there Hermione, I don't want to see it again. _You_ don't want to see it."

Hermione just stared at him, before softening slightly. "I know you don't want to see it again, and normally I wouldn't even consider it but I honestly think this is important. Just... _Please."_

Harry sighed, before looking at the snake, doing his best to imagine it as real. " _Open_." The hiss came it low and dangerous and to Hermione's credit, she only looked slightly perturbed as a the entire sink unit came away to reveal the dingy, slime-covered entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

 _"I really don't picture Salazar Slytherin coming this way, it's vile." She said, face sour._

 _"_ It's all downhill from here, Hermione. _"_

She frowned at him. "No, I mean I really can't picture Slytherin _or_ Voldemort sliding down there on their behinds. I mean - can you?"

Now that he thought about it, he really couldn't picture that at all. Slytherin was supposed to have been incredibly powerful, and he knew just how vain Tom Riddle had been. The puzzle was a nice distraction, and he began trying a few things in parseltongue to no avail, before getting fed up and simply asking for stairs. The concrete slide began to grind and shift, creating a cavernous noise not unlike Dudley snoring into a megaphone, and stairs formed out of what had been the slide he, Ron and Lockhart had gone down nearly two years prior.

"Wish I'd worked that out the last time I was here." He grumbled, and Hermione smiled.

"To be fair, you had a lot on your mind the last time. Not unlike this time. Now then..." She paused and took out her own wand, staring at the ooze coated stairs. " _Scourgify."_ She muttered the spell, jabbing her wand at the stairs, vanishing the ooze almost instantaneously,

" _Really_ wish we'd done that, too." Hermione just smirked and set off ahead of him down into the chamber.

The inside was pretty much exactly as he remembered. Brittle, crumbling bones of animals long since hunted crunched underfoot, and the entire tunnel had a dank feel to it. The walls were coated in a thick layer of moist algae or moss, a the moisture flowing down them gave the impression that the walls themselves were moving, flowing entities. It was dark, but not so much so that you couldn't see and yet, there wasn't an obvious lightsource. Nonetheless, both of them cast _lumos,_ the wandlighting charm, as they continued on into the depths of Slytherins ancient cavern beneath the castle. The danger of this place was two years dead, but the unsettling sensation of being watched, _hunted_ still lingered heavily in the air.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair anxiously as he led Hermione on, trying to resist the urge to curse towards every single imagined movement or shadow.

Eventually, the cavern opened out into the chamber proper, and there lying prone in the middle of the room was the Basilisk. Monumental even now, and yet just a touch smaller than he remembered; it lay deathly still, open wound festering slightly on the top of it's head. That was where Harry had driven s sword through the roof of it's mouth, killing it. Dried blood on the floor that he knew was his own showed that the snake had given as good as it got.

"My God," Hermione whispered, awestruck. "It must be at least 40 feet long, if not 50." She turned to him, eyes wide. "How are you even still here? I mean, I know the story I know _how_ \- it's just..." She trailed off, turning back to the basilisk again.

"I told you you didn't want to see what was down here Hermione." He said. Just being close to the thing mad him sick with fear even if he knew it was dead. It had never left his dreams.

"You still don't get what I'm saying, do you Harry?" She asked, suddenly turning back to him, eyes intense. "I don't think you're a great wizard because you're the Boy-Who-Lived, or because your famous or anything like that. And it's not what makes me believe that you'll beat Voldemort if it comes to it, or that you'll be able to help Luna or survive the tournament either. I don't see the Boy-Who-Lived when I look at you Harry, nobody who really know you does."

"This, is what I see." She said, gesturing towards the snake. "I see the wizard who charged down here and fought this monster because it _might_ save a little girl. I see the wizard who charged a bloody mountain troll to save _my_ life - I see the person, my best friend, that has stood up whenever he's seen something unjust or someone that needed help, and _helped them._ "

She took three steps towards him and jabbed her finger into his chest. "The Boy-Who-Lived didn't do any of those things - he isn't real. Just Harry did - you." She jabbed her finger again for emphasis. "You can say this was luck, and give a thousand other reasons why you don't deserve credit for this, but the fact is that no-one else came here and saved Ginny - you did. No-one else stopped Voldemort in our first year - you did it. It was your determination that saved Sirius, no-one elses." He opened his mouth to reply back, and Hermione jabbed again to stop him.

"Yes Harry, I know you had help but do you honestly think I would have been anywhere near brave enough to do the things we've done without you? I can tell you the answer. You make me want to do the right thing, to be brave and help and to question things that are wrong no matter who's saying them. If you hadn't been there I would have just trusted the professors to save Ginny - so would Ron. Lockhart would have run, and Ginny would be dead.

"You were lucky to have survived, sure. But luck wasn't all it was Harry, because you are an incredible wizard and an incredible person. I know everything is too much right now, I know that everything being heaped on to you like this isn't fair. But if there's one person I'd have faith in to cope with it it's you. When we've been up against it before, giving up was never an option so why is it now? The way I see it is that you have a choice in who you want to be and what you choose will determine how the rest of your life will pan out."

Hermione paused to take a breath, and Harry hardly dared move. That was the most he could remember Hermione ever speaking at once, and the most passionately too. It was difficult for him to align her descriptions of what he'd done with how he felt it had gone. But she _had_ acknowledged he'd gotten lucky and that he'd had lots of help - it wasn't as though she had exaggerated the things he'd done either. That wasn't her style. But he had never considered the impact he'd had on her, or that he might have deserved or received any credit for the things he'd done in previous years.

He'd always been so resentful of the Boy-Who-Lived hysteria that seemed to permeate everywhere around him, he'd always just written of praise as undeserved because of who he was, rather than try to distinguish between when people were genuinely praising his actions and when they weren't.

"And what is that choice, Hermione?" He asked, with more than a little trepidation.

"Are you just going to lie down and accept everything that's coming your way, or are going to square your shoulders, stand tall and fight back? I know what the wizard who killed this basilisk would do. There's not a single problem that you're facing that you can't match if you choose to."

To accept, or to fight back. It seemed so simple when it was put like that. Why was he just accepting everything? He had started the year so keen to be ready for Voldemort when he came. A terrifying prospect, to be sure, but one that he had felt equal to. And yet, as the year had started and things had started happening, he had just let them pile up on him until they were too much for him all at once and he had collapsed under the weight of it all.

There had always been a part of him that had been able to dig it's heels in, and fight no matter what, a stubbornness to win no matter what. He had discovered it in his first year against Quirrell and experienced it once again against the basilisk. He tended only to find it in the direst of circumstances, when other people were in danger and there was nobody else to help, and only when there was no other options left to explore. It all came down to who he was, right down at his very core. Was he the person who just accepted the things that happened to him and let them overwhelm him, or was he the person who grit his teeth and faced down his problems, the person who helped people and _won_.

He honestly didn't know. But he did know who he wanted to be. Whether he really was that person or not didn't really matter he supposed. His problems would be there regardless, so why not _try_ to be the person he wanted? After all, it wasn't like there weren't people depending on him _now._ What would happen to his friends when Voldemort came for him? What would happen to Luna if he didn't help find her? When Voldemort came back, how many more people could he help if he stood his ground a fought _now?_ How many would he fail, how many would die, if he didn't?

Hermione was right - Merlin, how many times would he have to say that in his lifetime? It was time that he stopped playing the victim in all of this. He couldn't control what was sent his way so once it was there was no point crying about it. What he _could_ control was what he did about it. Entered into this ridiculous tournament? He could moan and try and get out of it, let it eat away at him as he waited for each task. Or he could _fight._ Voldemort coming for him? Well, he knew there was only ever going to be one way to solve that problem - he could wait to die, or he could _fight._ Ron was out to get a little payback, was he? Well it was about time he stopped caring - he had bigger fish to fry than somebody that petty.

He had promised himself at the start of the year that he'd earn himself freedom to make his own choices. But the moment things had started getting tough, he had let himself fold. He should have known better than most that life never just gave you what you wanted. You had to earn it, _fight_ for it. Life took more often than it gave in Harry's experience, unless you made damn sure it couldn't. He had worked hard until now for sure, but it had been out of fear. Fear of Voldemort, fear of the tournament, of failure.

Fear was a fantastic motivator, he knew - especially when it came to survival. But not for the scale of problems he faced. You couldn't stand in front of Voldemort afraid, or else he'd tear you to pieces. How many people had he killed just because they were too afraid to even try to fight back? He couldn't use fear - even if he survived, how many people would die to make that happen?

No, he needed to fight and to _win._ It was time to stand tall and fight back.

* * *

Cedric Diggory hated having to admit when he'd been a bad person - he prided himself on being a good one, or at least as good as he could manage. When Harry had told him that he hadn't put his own name in the Goblet, Cedric _had_ believed him. He hadn't really acted like it though. He felt guilty enough straight after he had blown Harry off and even more so at how crestfallen it seemed to make him. The school's reaction - his own House's reaction had made it even worse. But what had really made him feel dreadful was the fact that he had done nothing about it as the school piled in again on a Fourth year who as far as Cedric could tell, seemed a decent enough person.

He had thought about talking to his house before now, but a small whisper of resentment towards Harry for becoming a Champion and taking away even slightly from his own opportunity to show what he could do had stopped him. And now things seemed to reaching a fever pitch for Harry. Cedric didn't know what else the Gryffindor had going on, but Cedric had been in that corridor earlier today when Weasley had hit him with that prank. He had seen the hurt that had caused Harry. The common room had been abuzz with talk about it when he had arrived after today's lessons, and most seemed to view it as harsh but deserved after Harry cheated his way into the tournament.

Only, Harry hadn't cheated his way in. Cedric had no proof, but he felt like he _knew_ it.

"What did you want to speak about, Cedric?" Asked a sixth year among the crowd of Hufflepuffs Cedric had gathered for a House meeting.

"I want to talk about Harry Potter." He said firmly, making sure to rake his eyes across as many of those in front of him as he could manage. Murmurs began to break out - particularly among the younger students. "I met Harry this Summer at the Quidditch World Cup and he seemed a decent sort. We spoke for quite a while - and I have to say I quite liked him." He started, and the rest of the Hufflepuffs fell into curious silence. "Before I carry on - fourth years. What are your impressions of him, having shared classes with him for a few years?"

A few moments of silence followed, before a nervous looking Susan Bones raised her had. "He always seems to be in the middle of something and tends to keep to his close friends." She started, "but we've spoken a few times. He always seems friendly enough - I know he's even helped Hannah in Care of Magical Creatures." At that, a slightly blushing Hannah Abbott nodded shyly.

Cedric smiled. "Thanks Susan. I have to say, I agree with that assessment." His smile fell away. "Which is why I'm so disappointed that my house - myself included - are playing such a big role in making him feel miserable. We're supposed to stand for fairness and loyalty - and not just towards our own house."

"But he cheated Cedric, _you're_ Hogwarts' Champion - not Potter." Ernie MacMillan piped up.

"Did he though? I don't know anybody that has spent any time with him that believes that, besides maybe Weasley - and I think it's pretty obvious that that's more about Weasley's jealousy than anything Harry did or didn't do. After the Champions were announced to tell me he hadn't entered the tournament, and I for one, believe him.

"Moreover, whether or not we believe him shouldn't matter. There is no evidence that he did it besides the fact his name came out of the Goblet. And if it's possible for a fourth year to get past protections put in place by _Albus Dumbledore_ , then it's equally possible that somebody else did it to try and hurt Harry. We pride ourselves on fairness, but treating somebody as guilty with no evidence is the antithesis of that. I'm here to move that Hufflepuff House ceases in our current course of maligning Harry Potter until such evidence comes to light so that we can say for certain that he is either innocent or guilty."

Cedric watched and listened to the response with a feeling of a job well done. Not everybody agreed of course, but enough people did that it might ensure the others stopped their mistreatment of Harry. It wouldn't stop completely, but he hoped at least he had been able to make Harry's life a little bit more bearable.

* * *

Half moonlight shone the the shattered windows of the Shrieking Shack as Harry dropped to the floor in exhaustion. Sirius had just put him through the absolute ringer and even though he had given absolutely everything, Harry still hadn't been able to get close.

"Your shield charm is still too sloppy. You're putting far too much energy into it, and not getting nearly enough bang for your buck. On top of that, it takes you an age to cast." Sirius said, grinning cockily despite the admonishment. "You're faster on your feet than most wizards, but the best duelists will get you anyway so your shields need to be up to scratch."

Remus was nodding along in the corner. "We'll refine your spellcasting a few nights from now." He glanced out of the windows, face seemingly more lined than usual. "It'll be my last chance to work with you for a little while." Harry nodded in understanding. The full moon was not too far away now.

"In the meantime," Sirius continued, "have you given any thought to the First Task?"

Harry shook his head. "We have no idea what it is so I'm just trying to work on as much as I possibly can. It's difficult trying to focus on so much at once though."

"We might be able to help with that Harry." Lupin said, small smile half-hidden beneath his greying moustache. "I have some contact with people trying to organise the First Task."

Harry looked at Remus with wide-eyes. "You're just going to tell me?"

"If you think Karkaroff and Maxine haven't done their own digging and let their champions know, you're kidding yourself - especially with Karkaroff." Harry noticed a slight sneer creep into Sirius' tone at the mention of the Durmstrang headmaster, but the information about the First Task was too important for him to press his Godfather on that.

"Charlie Weasley has been called in from Romania to help with setting up the First Task." Remus cut in, almost as if he knew that Sirius had ventured into uncomfortable territory.

Harry frowned at that. Charlie? Why on earth would Charlie need to come home from the dragon reserve for this, unless-

His eyes darted towards Sirius and Remus, aghast. "Dragons! They want us to fight a bloody dragon?!" Sirius' wince told him all he needed to know. "How the bloody hell am I supposed to fight a dragon?" He demanded.

"You can't - not even the others would be able to, at least not yet." Sirius said calmly. "As best as we can tell you, your challenge will be about getting _past_ a dragon, not beating it. It's a test of ingenuity, not strength." That calmed Harry, though not completely. A dragon was a bloody dragon. It was just as likely to try and eat him whether the task was to defeat it or not.

"So what do I do to get ready then?" He asked.

"In our opinion, you have to try and play to your strengths as best you can. What can you do _already_ that might get you past a dragon?"

Harry frowned in though for a moment before a though came to him. "Don't suppose you two can help me work on my summoning charm?"


End file.
